


A Dirty Wind

by cofax



Series: This is Not Wartime [10]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Apocafic, Multi, This is Not Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-09
Updated: 2010-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 72,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cofax/pseuds/cofax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What price freedom? <i>People fell back against the buildings, tugged their children to their sides, looked down rather than meet the eyes of the Jaffa. Give 'em another three years, Jack thought, and they'll be bowing in the streets.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dirty Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the This is Not Wartime story series. The story to date: Two years ago (at some point early in season 7), the Goa'uld captured Earth in an unexpected attack. SG-1 survived but Daniel was captured and eventually escaped offworld. Jack, Sam, and Teal'c began coordinating a guerrilla resistance effort in North America. Recently, Daniel returned and began a romantic relationship with Sam. This story opens some weeks after the end of Meet on the Ledge. Posted January 2006.

  
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**Boston, T minus 23 days**

  
"Jacob," Jack said into the microphone, not bothering to keep his voice low. They were as hidden as they could be, and nobody would be able to hear him over the jangling mandolins in the front room of the bar. "Jacob?"

Nothing. Carter grimaced, but Daniel just shrugged. "Give him time."

The small room smelled of stale beer and mold: yellowing papers on the desk told of invoices and personnel conflicts, band contracts and food deliveries. Relics of the time before. Carter had swept them all to the side to set up the jury-rigged transmitter she and Daniel had built, which looked like it came from a kit in the back of Popular Science. She peered at the motherboard, prodded a connection with a screwdriver, and shrugged. "Should be working, sir."

"It's working," said Daniel. "He's just busy." He sounded a little grumpy, and Jack hid a smile: Daniel was defensive of his engineering skills? Times had changed.

Jack nodded and leaned into the mike again. "Jacob, come in, Jacob."

This time there was a crackle, and a familiar, if cranky, voice came from the tiny speaker. "Who is this?"

"Unsecured line," said Jack, quickly. "I introduced you to your partner, there."

There was a pause. "J--you're alive? What about--" Jacob cut off: he was smart enough to avoid names.

"My kids are safe. Even your lost lamb." Jack smirked, while Daniel rolled his eyes.

"I don't believe it!" But Jacob's voice had lost the skepticism.

Carter tapped her watch, and Jack nodded. He made room for her next to the microphone. "Hey, it's me. We don't have much time. You remember Aunt Caroline's summer house? We'll meet you there in thirty-six hours."

"Oh my god. Oh, baby." Jacob's voice was thick, and Carter blinked rapidly herself. They hadn't been sure he was still alive, that he'd managed to avoid capture this long. It had been months since Daniel had last heard from him. "Caroline's, thirty-six hours. I remember. See you there." And he was gone.

"Okay, let's go," ordered Jack, before anyone had a chance to bask. Broadcasting on an unsecured frequency was a huge risk, but they didn't have the equipment to build an encrypter for the Tok'ra transmitter. Before they'd risked the call, they'd hidden themselves in Boston, hoping that if Kiralla noticed, she wouldn't be able to pin them down closely enough to find them.

Daniel held open the backpack while Carter piled all the bits and pieces of the transmitter into it. When they were done, Jack edged open the door. Marie nodded to him: the coast was clear. They slid out through the crowd in the main section of the bar, most of whom were clapping and singing along with two guys on mandolins and a woman on a battered set of drums. None of the music was amplified, of course, but to Jack it was a constant shock, that Boston of all places had survived Goa'uld occupation so well. Some of the people here even had time for music--but then in seven years offworld, they'd never found an inhabited planet without music. It wasn't a luxury.

Behind the bar Tony poured another pint of his bitter lager in exchange for half a dozen eggs. Marie slid a hand across the bar as she passed: Tony received the shells in a grimy fist and stashed it in his pocket. By dawn, the eggs would be boiled and the ammunition would be halfway to the Canadian border, traded for meat, milk, or coal in the vast and growing underground economy that operated within Kiralla's domain.

"So," said Daniel as they came out of the bar into the cooler air of Brookline Street. "What next?"

Jack looked up and down the sidewalk, but nobody was paying any attention to them. It was the usual Central Square Saturday-evening crowd. People passed by carrying shabby plastic bags of vegetables from the market in the square; a young Asian woman plucked at a guitar next to an empty bowl on the ground; and three Jaffa stood in the back of a flatbed truck proceeding sedately down the middle of Mass Ave.

"Split up," hissed Jack. "Carter and Marie, head back to the house and get the truck loaded. Daniel, you're with me."

The two women disappeared west down Brookline, and Daniel fell in behind Jack as he strolled easily around the corner and up the road in the wake of the Jaffa. Jack's hands itched for a P-90; even with the unlit Michelob signs in the bar windows, the reaction of the crowd was too familiar from so many other planets they'd seen under Goa'uld dominion. People fell back against the buildings, tugged their children to their sides, looked down rather than meet the eyes of the Jaffa. _Give 'em another three years,_ Jack thought, _and they'll be bowing in the streets._

"Jack," muttered Daniel, and bumped Jack's shoulder. His jaw was clenched, and it tightened as the truck slowed in front of three young girls, hesitant on the sidewalk. They were teetering on the edge of adulthood: slim bodies, small breasts, eyes too large for their hungry faces.

"No," said Jack, and put his hand on Daniel's arm.

One of the Jaffa motioned to the girls to approach, holding out something in one hand. The girls looked away, back, their faces pinched with longing. One of them stepped forward and grabbed the food, sharing it with one of the others.. The third held back, toes protruding over the edge of the curb.

Daniel wrenched against Jack, but Jack held him there. There was a gun in Jack's pack, and he knew Daniel had a zat in his jacket. But it would do them no good to be captured here, and they _would_ be captured. Boston was too small, Kiralla's Jaffa too well-organized. They had to wait.

So they waited, and two of the girls clambered up into the truck, which accelerated north along the road, heading for Harvard Square, where there would be still more hungry kids. The third girl lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, and then shook her head, disappearing down an alley. Kiralla was insatiable, and her men weren't much better, including the humans working for her. Some of the kids came back, sometimes.

Jack stayed where he was, his hand on Daniel's arm, until the traffic on Mass Ave had returned to normal, and he could no longer taste the bile.

  
+=+=+

  
**Southern Vermont, T minus 21 days **

  
The lane leading to Caroline Bennet's hundred-year-old cottage looked the same as it had the summer Sam had spent there after her mother died. The unpaved drive forked off the main road at a point marked by six weathered signs, of which only Bennet and Carlson could be read in the dusk. Sam manhandled the big truck down the narrow passageway, hemmed in by summer growth of sassafras and blackberries. Where the beams of her headlights hit the ground, she saw no new tire tracks on its dusty surface.

The truck dipped and shuttered through a pothole, and the colonel woke up with a grunt. "This it?" he asked, peering forward at the dense forest around them.

"Couple hundred yards," said Sam. "Should I stop?"

He pondered, then nodded. "Yeah. Just in case." Which he didn't need to finish. Just in case Jacob was compromised, or the Goa'uld were tracking them, or some enterprising hacker had downloaded all the addresses of anyone remotely linked to the Stargate program and given them to Kiralla in exchange for a ticket out of the work camps along Route 128. They'd never been able to identify what exactly was happening in the work camps. Jack thought it was weapons-related; Daniel claimed it was indoctrination. Neither theory was cheering.

O'Neill slapped a hand on the window between the cab and back, and dropped out the truck to meet Teal'c around the rear. Daniel and Marie emerged as well, Daniel scratching absently at the reddish scruff on his face. Marie looked perturbed and a little resentful.

Sam took the P-90 Daniel passed her, and raised an eyebrow, nodding at Marie. "Senneth," he mouthed, with a grimace. Sam patted his shoulder sympathetically while O'Neill directed them into the woods for a stealthy approach to the cabin.

The cottage sat alone and secure under the pines along the lakeshore, the yard in front empty and overgrown with weeds and poison ivy. Sam paused at the colonel's shoulder while he waited in the cover of the trees, examining the scene. There was a click on the radio: Teal'c had seen nothing suspicious on the other side of the house. Finally O'Neill waved Sam on; he would cover her while she approached the door.

The key was where Aunt Caroline had always left it, on a nail behind the second shutter, but the door itself was unlocked. Sam turned the knob cautiously, thankful for the presence of the colonel behind her. She pushed the door open with her foot and stepped into the room, swinging the muzzle of her weapon across the dimness.

"I should have figured you'd be early to your own family reunion, Sam."

The shock of her father's voice in the darkness startled Sam so much she jumped. "Dad!" Behind her, she could feel the colonel relax minutely.

Darkness moved against darkness and Sam was enveloped in her father's strong arms. "I was so worried," he said, as she clutched him in return, burrowing her face into the side of his neck. "Thank god you're alive, my baby girl."

"Jacob," acknowledged O'Neill as he moved past Sam into the cottage, eyes scanning the dusty room for threats or evidence of tampering.

There were none, however; the cottage was what it appeared to be: a well-loved two-bedroom cottage in the woods of southern Vermont, with a sagging front porch and a pantry well-stocked with beans and dry pasta. Marie and Teal'c, an unexpected team, hustled together a filling, if uninspired, meal of noodles and canned tomatoes, which they consumed hunched around the old linoleum-topped table.

"You're kidding." A noodle dropped from Jacob's mouth back onto his plate. Sam bit back a smile, but her father didn't even notice.

"Indeed not, Jacob Carter." Teal'c was serious but Sam could see the humor in his eyes. He'd been on Earth long enough to see the absurdity of his news. "Kiralla is convening her gathering of would-be System Lords in Las Vegas. They find the atmosphere and decor much to their liking, although I suspect they find the intricacies of the water system confusing."

O'Neill grinned around a mouthful of pasta. "Especially--" he swallowed, then continued. "Especially since someone took out Hoover Dam last winter."

"No shit!" said Daniel. "Huh. Hayduke lives."

"So that's the plan," said O'Neill. "We hit Kiralla and her gang and then swing back and take the gate. With limited supplies and no easy way home, anyone left will have to cave."

Jacob grimaced and wiped a spot of tomato sauce off his chin. "I don't know, Jack," he said. "You don't think they'll just dig in? Goa'uld don't mind wasting Jaffa lives. They could hold out a long time."

Sam nodded. This very issue had been a point of disagreement between O'Neill and Teal'c for weeks, and had yet to be resolved.

O'Neill shook his head. "You know we'll grant amnesty to anyone who rebels, Jacob, but we can't wait. Give it another year and these people will be too broken to rise again for generations."

"That's pretty sweeping. I think you're underestimating your own people."

"We're not waiting, Jacob, we're doing it anyway. This is the perfect opportunity. Now, we've got a better chance with your help, but there are people ready to go all over the continent. The rising is _going_ to happen. Within the next three weeks, all of North America is going up in flames." O'Neill pushed his half-empty plate away, all the geniality drained from his face.

Jacob frowned and looked at Sam, then at Daniel, before looking back at O'Neill. "Jesus, Jack. What have you done?"

"What I had to."

Sam watched her father's face as he stared at the colonel, mind turning over the possibilities one by one. "Who did you cut a deal with? Green Mountaineers? One of the Goa'uld?"

O'Neill didn't answer, but cast a glance at Sam. She wet her lips. "In the U.S., we've been in touch with Nathaniel Curran's group in Colorado; the Army of God up in Idaho and Washington--they've been moving into California lately, too. Um, the Bonanno family, down in New Jersey." Far right religious or political groups, mostly, and the occasional surviving Mafia don. Groups whose organization wasn't as dependent on the civilian infrastructure staying in place; groups who knew how to use weapons, or who found the Goa'uld to be a threat to more than just their physical security.

"Across the border it gets more complicated," said Daniel calmly. "But we've managed to get something in place with some of the drug-runners in Central America, a few remnants of the Guatemalan army. Even Sendero came to the table, although we couldn't give them much more than intel."

Jacob frowned, looking from one face to the next. "So, you're turning this into a crusade?"

Daniel said in a carefully neutral tone, "The Goa'uld compulsion to be worshipped as gods is the one weakness we can turn against them. Human beings will suffer a great deal under coercion, but they will _not_ accept a new god imposed by force, no matter how dire the circumstances."

"But they're--we're talking about criminals, here. Drug runners and the Mafia!"

The colonel shrugged. "Gets the job done."

"Okay," said Jacob cautiously. "Say you do this, and you succeed. What happens when it's over, Jack? You think they'll all just go back to their compounds and churches, and let the civilian authority take over again?"

"We'll deal with that when it happens, Jacob. I don't see we've got much of an option here."

"I'm still uncomfortable with this," Jacob protested. "Once we go down this path, I don't see any way back from it. Senneth, you can't be--" He stopped and frowned. A terrible look came over his face.

Selmak spoke for the first time all evening. "Daniel Jackson, where is Senneth?" Sam's stomach turned over.

O'Neill put his hand out, keeping Daniel in his seat. "Senneth is dead. There was an accident, Selmak. Daniel is not to blame."

Selmak turned Jacob's eyes to O'Neill; they were alight with anger. "But you are?"

Sam remembered Marie, ten feet away guarding the door of the cottage, and winced. Better that her father didn't learn who held the blade that killed Senneth.

O'Neill dropped his hand from Daniel's arm, his face hard. "Sure, if you have to blame someone, blame me. I'm the one who made Senneth leave Daniel."

Jacob pushed back from the table, his chair screeching across the floor, and strode to the window. He leaned his hands against the sill, dropping his head between his shoulders. "My god, would you listen to yourself? What's happened to the Jack O'Neill I knew?"

Sam opened her mouth, but could say nothing. She had to believe that the colonel was right: they did what they had to, to free Earth. But that hadn't kept her from second thoughts, which in turn had made her feel guilty and disloyal for questioning his reasoning. Daniel slid a hand down her arm to grip her hand, and she squeezed it back, but it didn't make the ache go away.

O'Neill didn't soften. "What's happened to me, is that I saw the military defenses of this entire world destroyed in an hour. Washington is a smoking hole in the ground, as are Moscow, Tokyo, and Rio. People are being enslaved, raped, and killed by the creatures I swore to fight. Don't you, of all people, pull that self-righteous crap on me. Idealism is the luxury that got us into this fucking mess to begin with."

Sam held her breath, gripping Daniel's hand so hard she saw him wince.

Jacob turned around and stared at O'Neill for a long time, one weather-beaten warrior facing off against another. Teal'c stirred, but O'Neill raised his hand a fraction, and Teal'c settled again, his face somber. SG-1 had made their choice long ago: this was between Jacob and the colonel. The candles on the table flickered, throwing shadows rippling up the walls and across their faces.

Finally Jacob sighed, his eyes refocusing, and Sam realized he'd been talking to Selmak. "I can't say I like it, but Selmak understands your situation. And, well, we've all seen things in the past year we'll never be able to forget. I'll do what I can--on one condition."

"Which is?"

"That we try to keep a lid on this, limit the involvement of any more, well, terrorists. Because that's what they are, Jack--don't kid yourself."

O'Neill took a long drink of water, wiping his face as he set the glass down. Sam saw some of the tension leave his shoulders as he met Jacob's eyes ruefully. "I know that, Jacob. And agreed."

"All right, then," said Jacob, settling back into his chair. "Tell me more about your plan."

  
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**Southern Vermont, T minus 20 days**

  
Jack sent Marie to get some sleep when 2 AM had come and gone without any break in the planning session. He'd said his piece, argued Jacob into compliance, and set out the basic structure. Then he sat there for a while kibitzing on Teal'c and the Carters as they fine-tuned the arrangements, making a decision when one needed to be made.

Eventually they were down to arguing about whether Casey or Ellie could be trusted with one of the P-90s, and he figured he didn't need to be there for that. Daniel had long since fallen asleep, his head propped uncomfortably on the wooden arm of the sofa. So Jack went out onto the porch instead and sent Marie inside.

June in Vermont was mosquito season, but it was still cool enough at night that the little bastards weren't a problem. Jack sat on the stoop and stared out at the yard. Not thinking for once, just listening to the crickets, and the frogs in the pond behind the cottage.

The murmur of voices inside got suddenly louder; Jack looked around to see Daniel step out onto the porch and close the door behind him.

"Hey," said Daniel.

Jack turned back to the yard. "Hey."

Daniel sat down on the step just above. "Pretty arrogant of you," he said mildly.

"Huh?"

"Taking on all the blame for . . . this." Daniel gestured at the woods around them, the fireflies sparking across the yard, the stars glimmering down through the pines.

"Daniel--"

Daniel shook his head. "You don't think Apophis shares some of the blame? Ba'al? Kiralla and Sindle and Nezer and their Jaffa? And what about me, Jack? If I hadn't gotten curious and dug up the damned Abydos gate none of this would have happened." He snorted in disgust. "You don't get to take responsibility, it's not that simple."

Jack let the silence come back before he answered. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"So you've said." Daniel shifted his weight, and his knee nudged Jack's shoulder. "You don't have anything to be redeemed for, Jack. Just do the damned job."

Jack tried to smile, but those muscles felt stiff, and he was glad the darkness hid his face. So he shrugged and nudged Daniel back. "I missed you, you know." Something he should have said weeks ago.

"I know."

" 'Kay."

The stars turned and the fireflies drifted away, and Jack was cold everywhere but where he leaned against Daniel's leg.

"So this thing with Carter. How's that working out for ya?"

"It's good. You should try it some time." Daniel put a hand on Jack's shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. He squeezed Jack's shoulder briefly. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah, in a few."

Daniel closed the door quietly behind him.

When Jack went back inside, nodding to Teal'c on the way, only one of the candles was still lit. Daniel was on the couch again, sound asleep. But now Carter was draped over him like a leggy blanket, feet sticking out from under the hideous orange and purple afghan, her face tucked into the crevice between Daniel's shoulder and the back of the couch. Daniel's hand was wrapped around her braid, between her shoulder blades. He snored softly, his mouth open.

Jack stood there for a while, looking at them, thumbs tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. Then he went looking for the sleeping bags Carter had pointed out earlier. Dawn would come soon enough, and they had a job to do.

  
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**Boston, T minus 19 days**

  
The yellow flowers had withered away, and the purple ones were fading to brown. But there were new ones now, red and creamy yellow, on bushes around the building. Rah'nak did not stop to look at them: it would be inappropriate for a warrior of his status to be seen looking at plants, no matter how attractive.

Inside the red brick building that Kiralla had chosen as her headquarters in this crowded city, Jaffa sprang to attention as Rah'nak passed. Rah'nak was not First Prime, of course; but he was second only to the First Prime Serak, and as such was senior to everyone else in the city. Except the divine Kiralla, of course.

Rah'nak handed his cloak to an attendant, a small dark Tau'ri who slept on the floor in front of the door and whom no one had ever heard speak. If he had a name, no one knew it. The Tau'ri took the cloak away to the room that Rah'nak used for his work, while Rah'nak proceeded down the hallway to the main room, the amphitheater. This was where the voc'tar was set up, and attended constantly by a human slave Kiralla had brought from Tenarath for the purpose.

"The connection is ready, slave?" asked Rah'nak as he walked down the ramp. But there was no need to ask; the slave had never failed to have it prepared by the time Rah'nak arrived each morning.

"Second-Captain," acknowledged the slave, and touched a control on the device in front of him. On the dais, the ball mounted on a waist-high pedestal began to glow, and then the surface faded into transparency, to reveal the face of sector leader Drem'bak, who was currently stationed in the Tau'ri city of Chicago.

"Second-Captain," said Drem'bak, and nodded respectfully. "The riots were suppressed during the night, and we killed many Tau'ri in the streets, although two Jaffa were injured. They were struck from behind by wooden clubs, and received considerable damage. I would like to request that--"

"What about the Tau'ri?" interrupted Rah'nak, knowing Drem'bak was going to request more symbiotes for his men, and knowing that Kiralla had flatly refused to distribute them. "Have you captured those responsible for instigating the riots?"

"Apologies, Second-Captain, I have not. We suspect they are hiding in the southern part of the city, but we have failed to bring them to light. With more men, I could--"

"Denied. Find the trouble-makers and execute them before anyone learns their names." Rah'nak made a signal, and the slave turned a switch. Drem'bak disappeared.

Next were reports from Stenkar in Dallas, Bek'tak in Toronto, and Fellek in Las Vegas. More of the same, although no other city had natives as troublesome as Chicago. They only had minor complaints: about the food supplies, about the women, about the consistent failure of the natives to worship the glorious Kiralla as they ought. Nothing new, except for something Fellek said.

"Second-Captain..."

Rah'nak made sure not to sigh. He was always surprised that Fellek had survived to this rank: few Jaffa respected perceived weakness. But Rah'nak suspected the First Prime advanced Fellek _because_ of his meek and obsequious nature: Serak always preferred subordinates who told him things he already knew. "Yes, sector leader?"

"One of my slaves has been monitoring the Tok'ra frequencies, as you requested."

Rah'nak blinked, and straightened. "And?"

"And he caught a few seconds of a transmission yesterday. It was unencrypted, and they were speaking the local Tau'ri dialect." Fellek leaned forward towards the voc'tar, as if he were in the room with Rah'nak. His face enlarged into monstrosity, and then became smaller again as he realized his error. "Here is the recording."

There was a click, and then a voice, speaking Tau'ri. A woman's voice:

"--remember Aunt Caroline's summer house? We'll meet you there in thirty-six hours."

Then another voice, a man's.

"Oh my god. Oh, baby. Caroline's, thirty-six hours. I remember. See you there." Another click, and then silence.

"That's all there was?" Rah'nak asked, baffled. These were Tau'ri, using Tok'ra frequencies. What were they saying? It had to be some kind of code.

"Yes, Second-Captain. There was nothing more, and it was gone before we could locate the source. Shall I have the slave continue to monitor these frequencies?"

Tok'ra, here, on Earth. This was--Rah'nak stopped himself. They had no proof this was Tok'ra. And without proof, without evidence, or better yet, a body in hand, he could not risk telling the divine and glorious goddess of this discovery. She would insist on answers he could not provide to her.

Not yet. "Send the slave to me," Rah'nak said. "Include his equipment. I shall oversee his work personally." He turned away from the voc'tar without waiting to see Fellek's response.

Tok'ra on Earth. He had thought that the war was over; it was very possible he was wrong.

  
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**Western Vermont, T minus 19 days**

  
"Colonel."

Jack jerked upright and wiped his eyes. They were approaching the bridge west of Whitehall, where sometimes the locals kept a checkpoint. It was raining, early morning, and the mist hung low, clinging to the trees and shrubs next to the road. By rights they should have made this trip last night, but they were all exhausted, and they needed to reconvene at the lodge before splitting up again.

  
It had seemed best to let everyone rest; now Jack wasn't so sure. He really didn't like traveling in daylight. He liked it even less now. Instead of the familiar form of Kay, the bridge guard, her corkscrewing grey curls spilling over her shoulders, he saw three shorter figures in front of the barrier at the end of the bridge. The old barrier had been two big Chevy trucks; now they had a semi parked across the entrance to the bridge. Nobody was getting across the river without talking to the locals.

The fact was that outside of the cities where the Jaffa were stationed, all government was local now. What this meant varied widely: from vicious warlords in the Missouri woods to elected selectmen in northern New Hampshire. Last Jack knew, Whitehall was still run by a town council: they had a militia of about twenty men and women who kept order and guarded the river crossing. Things were pretty peaceful here, but then things had an ugly tendency to change when Jack wasn't looking.

"Slow down," said Jack, sliding the nine-mil into Carter's lap.

She nodded. "Something's wrong." She grimaced and tucked the gun out of sight behind her, where she could reach it easily with her right hand.

Jack checked the magazine on the P-90 and pulled his jean jacket over his lap to hide it. Carter slowed down even more, coasting the truck the last hundred yards down the incline towards the bridge. Jack tapped the glass window into the back, figuring that Teal'c and Daniel had to be awake by now anyway. The back of the truck was a damned uncomfortable bed.

"What's that on the bridge?" Carter asked, pointing her chin off to the left. A sudden gust of wind blew the mist aside, revealing the rusting grey girders of the old bridge. There was a squawk, and a crow flapped across the river. Something heavy swung, turning slowly. "Oh, god," said Carter, and then shut her mouth.

_Shit_, thought Jack. Things in Whitehall _had_ changed.

And then the guards were waving them down. The truck stopped about thirty feet from the semi. Jack shot a glance at Carter as she rolled down the window, and she shook her head minutely: she didn't recognize any of the three people walking towards them. And she'd come this way about once a month for the last 10. Jack fingered the P-90.

"Who're you?" The guy in front was short and burly in a stained field jacket and mud boots. His companions, a pudgy woman and a young Asian man, hung back. They looked far less comfortable with their weapons than LL Bean was. He had a rifle; the others clutched guns awkwardly.

Carter smiled anxiously, all innocence. "Jenny Halpin," she answered. "This is John," she said, with a wave at Jack. "We're heading for Windsor, I've got cousins up there..."

"Yeah?" LL Bean licked his lips, and peered into the cab. "What's in the back?"

"Furniture," drawled Jack. "And boxes and boxes of books."

"And Murray. Our dog. I wanted him in the cab, but he's sick, and we couldn't stay, you don't know what it's like back there, the aliens and there's not much food anymore--"

LL Bean scowled. "Open it up."

Carter stopped babbling. Jack widened his eyes, concentrating on the periphery. They were in the open, no buildings nearby, and at least a hundred yards from the edge of the woods. The nearest cover was the semi itself, and a burned-out Volvo station wagon off to the side of the road. Jack wondered when that had happened, and who it had belonged to.

"You sure?" he said. "Damn dog's been shitting all over everything--"

LL Bean stepped back a pace and raised his rifle. Not, Jack noticed, high enough to actually threaten the two of them in the truck. But if he shot the truck, like as not he'd hit something important, and they could risk losing the truck only a little less than Carter or Jack himself.

"Your funeral," said Jack, and nodded to Carter.

It was vaguely anticlimactic. Carter fumbled the door, LL Bean stepped forward to grab at the latch, and Carter slammed it open, smashing the window frame into his face. He dropped, howling, and by the time the other two got their weapons up, Jack was out of the cab and covering them with the P-90.

"T? You gonna join the party?" he asked, without raising his voice.

Teal'c came up behind him, his own weapon in his hands, and tossed the rifle to Daniel before pulling LL Bean to his feet. "It did not seem as though you required any assistance."

Daniel stayed out of Jack and Carter's line of fire and relieved the other two guards of their weapons as well. "You want these?" he asked Jack. Jack shook his head: popguns weren't much use against Jaffa. Daniel stripped out the ammunition and piled the guns carefully on the ground.

"So," Jack said, stepping forward to glare at LL Bean. "You wanna tell me what happened to Kay?"

LL Bean just scowled, blood flowing freely from the gash on his forehead. But there was a whimper from behind him, and Jack followed it to the woman, round and motherly in a quilted jacket and pink sneakers.

"What happened to Kay?" He was tempted to call her "Ma'am," and then realized she was probably younger than he was. Damned civilians.

She shook her head, eyes huge and terrified. Christ, they probably thought he was going to shoot them all. "What about you?" he asked the Asian guy. "You gonna talk?"

No answer, beyond an instinctive glance over his left shoulder, towards the bridge. The bridge, where the body swung. "Son of a--" Jack's vision grayed, and only when Daniel grabbed his arm did he realize he'd raised his weapon.

Kay was tall and funny, a professor at Plymouth State College, before. She was trustworthy, one of the few who knew both what SG-1 was about and how to reach them if she had to. Jack suspected she was active on the new underground railroad, the one smuggling priests and ministers into the countryside, but he'd never asked.

"What did she ever do to you?" Carter's voice was cold.

LL Bean snapped, "She was a collaborator! She would have brought the aliens on us--I saw her! We all saw her!"

Collaborator? Kay? Not likely. "What did you see?" ground out Jack, past the fury.

"She was talking to one," stammered the woman finally, her voice soft and fluting, the words escaping into the wind along with the mist. "We saw her, and he was one of them, with the stick weapons, and the tattoo!"

"Like this?" asked Teal'c, and pulled off his cap. The sky was still grey, the clouds low, and the glyph on his forehead shone with a matte gleam. It was enough to terrify the guards, who paled and looked desperately around for some escape route.

LL Bean refused to be intimidated. "She got a fair trial! And we put her up there, she's a warning! We don't want any damned collaborators here!"

"Christ," said Daniel feelingly. "It's like Lord of the Flies."

"Try Beirut," said Jack. "And believe it or not, these are the_good_guys." It wasn't worth trying to convince them that Kay had been working with the resistance, that among other tasks she had been passing messages to and from Teal'c, via rebel Jaffa within Kiralla's own ranks. They'd seen what they'd seen, and life was just so damned simple when you could divide everyone into Good Guys and Bad Guys. They weren't about to believe a Jaffa could be an ally.

Jack sighed and scratched his jaw. It was getting late in the day, and they couldn't stay here. "Tie them up," he said. "Carter, move the semi and disable it. These morons can sit on the ground for six hours until their relief arrives."

"You can't do that! You--you_bastards_! We're taking care of our people here--" LL Bean sputtered with rage, his voice rising into a stream of invective that was delivered with feeling but no great creativity.

"And gag that asshole."

  
+=+=+

  
**Boston, T minus 16 days**

  
"My lord?" The doorkeeper had never mastered the glottal stop of _Tec-ta're_, or Second-Captain, and had always used more general honorifics. Rah'nak had allowed it because he was in all other ways an exemplary servant. Right now he was hovering in the doorway, looking apprehensive.

"Yes, what is it?" Rah'nak glared at the unresponsive screen on the table against the wall.

"The slave, my lord. For the data-machine." The doorkeeper stepped back and pushed someone through the doorway.

Rah'nak raised an eyebrow: _this_ was going to solve his problems? The new slave was a female, short and thin, with long hair falling well down her back. The bottom eight inches of her hair were a muddy orange color, while the rest was an undistinguished, and rather greasy, brown. Her red shirt was spotted with stains, as were the blue cloth pants. She stood unmoving under his gaze, her eyes fixed on the floor at his feet.

"You're sure?" Rah'nak was dubious.

The doorkeeper bobbed twice. "She is the most capable of all the slaves in the pool, my lord. Even she agrees. Tell the lord, you!" He slapped the girl across the back of the head.

Some expression flitted across her face, too quickly for Rah'nak to identify it, before she nodded, still not looking up. "It's true, I'm the best computer tech you have." Her voice was sullen.

"Good," said Rah'nak. "Then fix this thing." He refrained from kicking the machine, and merely swept an arm at it before turning back to his own duties. He was calculating manpower needs for the next half-year, based on losses to date. The figures were not promising, especially since Kiralla--the glorious and divine--had flatly refused applying to any of the System Lords for more troops. She must have a plan, but Rah'nak wished she would share it with him. She must have a reason, just as she must have a reason for not taking any of the computers off the ha'taks before they departed. Leaving them with these incomprehensible, and easily-damaged, Tau'ri machines.

The slave settled down with the machine and poked at it with the few small tools she was permitted. After an hour or so, she approached Rah'nak gingerly. "My lord? It needs some parts I don't have here. How do I--"

He cut her off. Really, it was absurd he should have to suffer this. "Kree!" Brec'tac snapped to attention in the doorway. "Take this slave wherever she needs to go to obtain the materials to fix this machine. Oh, and have her cleaned. She smells disgusting."

"At once, Second-Captain!" Brec'tac bowed, grabbed the girl by the arm, and towed her into the hallway.

Rah'nak sighed with relief and got up to open the window. He'd heard so much about the legendary Tau'ri cleanliness: he wondered if the passion for hygiene had anything to do with how fast they began to stink.

When they came back, the girl carried a box full of various bits and pieces of equipment, including three different kinds of cables, a new screen for the machine, and more tools. Rah'nak watched her occasionally from across the room, but she did nothing more than screw and unscrew parts, muttering under her breath, and once swear at a tiny bolt that shot clattering across the floor. He pretended not to notice when she snatched it out from under his desk; at least she didn't reek anymore.

Finally, after Rah'nak had been called away three times for conferences and once for a disciplinary hearing (one of the Horus guards had knifed an Ibis guard), he came back to find the machine running. The girl hunched over the keyboard and controller, clawing her hair out of her eyes as she pulled up menu after menu on the screen. "God-damned evil empire. It's the end of the fucking world, and I still can't get away from Microsoft. Didn't these assholes ever hear of Linux?"

"It works?"

She jumped, and scrambled out of the chair to bow nervously, eyes fixed on the ground. "Yes, my lord. It works, mostly. It--I--it would help if I knew what you needed it to do."

Rah'nak considered, but it was a sensible notion, and she might in fact be able to do what he needed. He went to the desk and picked up a stack of papers. "I need this information to be sorted and mapped, geographically and chronologically." These were the records of all the major incidents of rebellion in Kiralla's domain for the last calendar year. The records also included any reports from outside Kiralla's holdings, such as in Nezer's provinces to the north. He looked down at the papers: it was a very long list.

"Uh-huh, so you need it to run Arc View, then," said the girl, craning her head to look at the papers in his hand. Rah'nak hesitated, and then held them out to her. But she stepped back. "Oh. Oh, I, um, I can't help you, my lord."

His hand tightened on the papers. This slave did not just refuse him. "Why not?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" she spoke quickly, face going white. "I just--I can't read it!"

Rah'nak stared at her blankly, and then looked down at his carefully-compiled records. Which were written, very clearly and neatly, in Goa'uld. Which the slave could not read, and in fact was forbidden on pain of death, to learn.

This was going to take longer than he had thought.

  
+=+=+

  
**Roxbury, Massachusetts, T minus 16 days**

  
Even after many visits to Boston during grad school, six months living in Cambridge across the river, and dozens of visits since, Sam was constantly finding a new neighborhood she'd never seen before. It was as if the city were like that maze on PPX-984, where each intersection reoriented itself after they passed through. And, she had to admit, following Teal'c down the alley, this wasn't a neighborhood she would have wanted to find before now.

There wasn't anyone in the parking lot when they came out of the alley and turned the corner. The chain-link fence was crumpled sideways, leaning out over the sidewalk, protecting nothing now: parking was no longer a priority, in a world where Sam had seen someone shot for a six-gallon jug of gasoline.

They were being watched, of course. Sam wanted her P-90, and had to settle for the handgun in her pocket. Not that it would do her much good if the people here decided they didn't like their visitors. Despite the peeling paint and derelict cars, this was a living neighborhood: so active, in fact, that Kiralla's Jaffa wouldn't risk coming here at night.

Before the Goa'uld attack, Sam would have been pretty alien here, too; she was white and relatively rich, and she wasn't any less white now than she had been then. But in the absence of banks and employers, differences in income had mostly disappeared; everyone suffered now under the Goa'uld. There was much to be gained in reaching out to a community that had survived better than most, and that had, one must admit, more experience than most with oppression and violence. Which reasoning explained why Sam and her companions were here, but did not predict whether they would be successful. Or even survive, if their contacts chose to turn on them.

"You sure about this, Major?" muttered Casey as they finally reached the gate in the fence.

"Yup," she said, smiling for his benefit, and for that of the watchers. "You should ask Teal'c sometime about the time we went looking for the Tok'ra. Now _that_ was scary."

Marie hissed. "Someone's coming."

A young woman sauntered across the parking lot from the collapsed brick building on the other side. She was tiny, black, clad in low-slung jeans and a grey hoodie. Her braids glittered with gold and nearly reached her waist. She wasn't carrying any weapon Sam could see.

"Here goes," Sam said. "Teal'c, you're up."

Teal'c stepped forward and gave his shallow bow, but the girl barely acknowledged him. "This all of ya? You brave, I guess. C'mon this way," and with that she turned and led them around the corner and headed down an alleyway.

Sam paused: this was an excellent way to get trapped and killed. But they'd already committed to this meeting. She sighed, and nodded to Teal'c, who led them down the alley after the young woman.

Three turns and a scramble around an overturned police car later, they found themselves on the front steps of what had been a majestic church. Possibly a Catholic one, Sam surmised, from the "Saint E--" on what was left of the sign on the wall. From outside, it looked like the Jaffa had strafed it from the air: there was charring on the brick and the roof had collapsed. Despite its ruin, their guide stepped over the debris in the doorway and disappeared inside.

"Guess this is it, then," said Sam. "Casey, you have the door."

The interior of the church was dim, despite the light filtering through the holes in the roof. Huge ceiling beams had collapsed at the far end of the church, cascading asphalt tiles, wood, and plaster over the entire altar area. Half the pews were gone, leaving gaping and irregular holes in the tile floor. The pews were gone, Sam realized, for the same reason there wasn't much litter on the street: people needed fuel to cook with. She wondered how many lives the wood here had saved in the bitter cold of last winter.

And then she stopped wondering, her attention focusing on the welcoming party standing in the center aisle.

There were five of them: their young guide, two young men, an older woman with close-cropped graying hair, and a short man of about the colonel's age. The rest were wearing casual clothes, jeans and sweatshirts, but the older man was in a suit coat and a button-down shirt.

Teal'c led the way down the aisle, but Casey stayed by the door. When they got about ten feet away, Teal'c stopped and bowed.

"I greet you."

One of the young men snickered, but stopped at a glance from the older woman. The other young man just leaned against the pew, arms folded against his chest, his face expressionless. Sam suspected he was carrying a gun.

"And we, you," said the older man, in a voice that was, if possible, even more impressive than Teal'c's. The rumble seemed to fill the ruined space of the church. "I am Reverend Alfred Banks. This is Mrs. Houston, her granddaughter Ananda, and--" he paused. "And Rasul and Dwayne." His expression of polite welcome did not change, but Sam suspected that Rasul and Dwayne were not the minister's favorite parishioners. In fact, she expected they weren't much familiar with churches, based on the tattoos on Dwayne's hands.

"Indeed," replied Teal'c, and introduced his party in return. At "Major Samantha Carter," Rasul straightened slightly, his eyes narrowing. Sam calculated how far she was from acceptable cover. Too far, and there were civilians here.

"So," said Dwayne, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "What y'all here for, anyway? What we got the almighty Air Force want?"

"Dwayne," reproved Mrs. Houston. He shrugged resentfully, but shut up.

"I think we can help each other," said Sam, keeping her hands out of her pockets. The tension was making her twitchy. "We have information that you may find helpful, and we need your help."

"What kind of information?" Mrs. Houston's eyes were sharp, her voice as middle-American as Sam's own. If she was from Roxbury now, she'd lived other places, done other things, on the way. Sam decided that for all Reverend Banks' impressive voice and patriarchal authority, the real leader here was Mrs. Houston.

"Do you know who the aliens are? _What_they are? And how to kill them?" There wasn't any way out of this but by putting their cards on the table. It didn't make Sam any happier, but she'd lost this argument already.

"Sure, we do!" challenged Dwayne. "We don't need you coming down here to share your almighty wisdom--"

This time Rasul lifted a hand, and Dwayne stopped. "They don't die easy," Rasul said, in a contemplative tone.

"They do not," said Teal'c. "This is because they have a symbiote, like this--" and with no warning, he lifted his shirt up to expose his symbiote pouch.

Ananda gave a little shriek; Reverend Banks gasped. Dwayne yanked a gun out of his pocket, swearing. But Mrs. Houston merely raised an eyebrow. "So you're one of them?"

"I was," Teal'c affirmed. "Once I was First Prime to Apophis, a Goa'uld greater than any of these petty lordlings who have come to Earth. I killed many men and women--and children--in the service of my god. Even when I knew he was no god, because I could not abandon my people in servitude."

There was a long silence. Sam held her breath. This was a risky move, and a very calculated one: it had been Daniel's idea, and he'd convinced the colonel of his logic. But to reach out to the black community, on the basis of a similar history, using Teal'c's very appearance--it all felt distastefully political. Manipulative. But no less necessary, for all that. The colonel needed more support than their pitifully-tiny team could provide. Boston was vital: the city _had_ to rise.

"What happened?" asked Ananda, leaning over the back of a pew. "Why'd you leave--Apoppa?"

A smile slid across Teal'c's face so quickly Sam suspected she was the only one who caught it. "I left the service of Apophis when I discovered that there was a way to fight him. I joined the service of your United States Air Force, and with Major Carter and many others, we defeated Apophis, and freed many of my people."

Rasul didn't move, but the fingers on one hand tightened on his opposite arm. "How? How'd you beat him?"

SG-1 blew him up, and watched him die, and then he came back, and then there was Heru'ur and Sokar and Ba'al and Anubis--but this was a political negotiation, not history. These people needed only enough of the truth to get them to do what the colonel needed.

Sam smiled grimly. "We blew him up."

And she knew, from the smile on Rasul's face, that the colonel might have his army after all.

  
+=+=+

  
**Upstate New York, T minus 13 days**

  
Karen was sitting alone at the picnic table as Jack and Daniel approached, her graying head bent, as if she were examining the splintered wood for a message from the beyond. She raised her head when they were about twenty feet away, calm dark eyes meeting Jack's with an evaluating look.

Jack paused at the corner of the table and looked around briefly before making introductions. The small park was apparently empty, but he was sure Karen had men in the trees; Jack certainly would have.

"Doctor Daniel Jackson, Colonel Karen Randolph."

"Retired," corrected Karen dryly. "Not that it took." Thirty years in the States, and Karen's voice still had that soft South American intonation.

"Sounds familiar," said Daniel. "It's nice to meet you, Colonel. Jack's told me a lot about you."

She smiled slightly, but the expression didn't do much to lighten the lines on her face. She'd lost a lot of weight since Before, and she must have stopped dying her hair: there was a line where the grey stopped and the color started, a chestnut fading to orange at the ends. "I've heard of you, Doctor Jackson, but not from Jack. I was senior enough in the Space Command to learn something about the Stargate Program."

Jack grunted in surprise. "You never said anything!"

Karen's smile grew, and this time it was real. "If I had, I'd have pumped you for everything, and I wasn't cleared for that. I really wanted to."

"Huh." Jack sat down on the bench, grimacing at the damp. It was still early morning, and the dew hadn't yet dried.

Daniel coughed and put his hands into his pockets, a technique Jack recognized as "stalling for time." "So how are your people doing, Colonel? Are the Jaffa giving you any trouble?"

Karen shook her head. "Not as long as we don't give them any. I keep a tight rein on my people: I had to sit on some of the younger enlisted men, but we're doing okay. Haven't lost anyone in a couple of months."

There was a shadow on the far side of the meadow--after eighteen months without mowing, this wasn't really a park anymore--that didn't match any of the trees. Karen had a man there, which meant she had more.

"Getting enough food?" Jack asked. If her people were, Karen wasn't. Although he wasn't one to talk: he'd had to punch a new hole in his belt last week. Carter and Daniel had both tried the "I'm not hungry, want to finish this?" maneuver on him, and he'd nearly snapped their heads off, since they weren't doing any better. Some day Jack was going to find one of those Hollywood people who thought women were more attractive when you could count their ribs from across the room, and teach them something about malnutrition.

Karen shrugged. "We're doing okay for now. There's some local farms, and we put in some crops on the ball fields on post. I'd love to get some meat, but."

Daniel nodded sympathetically as he sat down on the end of the bench. Teal'c had brought in a chicken a couple of weeks ago. It didn't go far amongst forty.

"So what do you want, Jack? You didn't drive all night to quiz me about my grandkids. Who are fine, by the way, thanks for asking."

The morning sun was harsh on Karen's face. Jack couldn't remember the first time he'd met Karen Randolph; it was the kind of information he tended to purge in favor of hockey scores and marinades. But it was long before he'd joined the Stargate program, maybe even before his marriage, back when he'd defined "home" a little more narrowly than an entire planet. Karen was Army: one of the technical specialists who'd crawled up the ranks, and one of the few women of her generation who'd made it to full colonel. Jack figured she'd have been a Lieutenant General by now, if she'd wanted to stick it out.

Instead, she'd retired on a Colonel's pension and gone into consulting, where she made a lot more money and got to see a lot more of her grandchildren. Jack couldn't think this was a bad thing, despite the real loss to the military of Karen's dry humor and incisive mind. The last time he'd seen her, before the Goa'uld hit, she'd given him a lot of shit about staying in. He'd been relieved to hear she had survived, but Karen deserved better than to be watching over a couple of hundred military families in the shadow of the Goa'uld occupying upstate New York.

"I need your help." Jack met her eyes, wondering how much twenty years of friendly acquaintance was worth. "We're going on the offensive, and I need men."

Karen frowned, the grey lines in her dark skin becoming more pronounced. "What are you going to do?"

"We're going to take out Kiralla. And we're going to cut their supply lines. Once we do that--"

"How?" she said sharply.

Jack shook his head. "You don't find out until you're in. But it's a good plan, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think so. If we pull it off, the Jaffa will--"

"You can't be serious."

"Karen."

"Jack." There was no give in that voice.

Fine. "We've stolen an al-kesh. We're going to load it with explosives and crash it into her headquarters. No more snakes." Put that baldly, it sounded damned stupid. But then so did blowing up a sun.

Daniel leaned forward across the table. "That's the key. The Jaffa wouldn't be here except for the Goa'uld. If we take out Kiralla and the other Goa'uld, we've got a chance--"

But Karen was shaking her head.

"Daniel. Stop." Jack looked at Karen; she met his eyes levelly. "You're not going to help."

"I'm sorry. But I have people to look out for." She didn't look sorry; she looked tired.

"So do we--" said Daniel fiercely, then stopped. "It's not just that, is it?"

"No. It's too dangerous. You're going to make more trouble, not less. You can't kill them all, not at once. And don't tell me a lot of innocents won't die. I'm not buying it."

She wasn't wrong. The Goa'uld were guaranteed to strike back any way they could; and how many people lived in Las Vegas anyway? "I won't," said Jack, keeping his eyes on hers. "They'll hit back. But if we do this--if we do it right--it's the beginning of the end. After that, it's just the Jaffa and the second-string players. We can beat them--but we have to do it _now_."

Karen turned her head, looking casually around the park, at the splintering boards on the swing set and the weeds grown up over the merry-go-round. Someone had stolen the barbecue grill, leaving only an iron stub next to the picnic table. "Before we get used to it?" she asked finally, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," said Jack. "We've seen--you don't want to know what we've seen."

Daniel added, "It's bad now, but it's not going to get better. Believe us."

Karen shook her head anyway, and raised a hand. Someone slipped into view at the edge of the trees, a dark figure with a gun. And another, behind Daniel. "No," she said. "You're risking too much, you're taking on too much. You don't have the _right_ to make this decision, Jack. Nobody gave you the authority for this."

Daniel got that mulish look on his face. "Nobody _can_, Colonel Randolph. Nobody's left."

Her voice got tighter. "You're still wrong. And what if it doesn't work? Worse, what if it does, and they come after my people? Or they hit another city? You saw what happened to DC."

Daniel looked down at the table. Jack didn't. "Do you really want your granddaughters to grow up worshipping Kiralla?"

"I want my granddaughters to _grow up_."

There wasn't an answer to that. Once, Daniel would have been arguing Karen's position. But that was Before. Jack wasn't sure it was a good thing, that Daniel thought more strategically now. It made the world unbalanced.

A few moments went by, while Daniel picked at a splinter on the table and Karen examined Jack's face. Finally she shrugged, and stood up. At a wave, two of her men came forward, flanking her. They were young, and wore jeans and t-shirts, but there was no question they were military.

"You gonna let us go?" asked Jack, genuinely curious. Daniel's head jerked up and he looked around in surprise.

Karen put a hand out and was given a weapon, an ugly-looking shotgun. "If I kept you here, would it stop it?"

"Nope." Carter wouldn't back off now: she had her orders.

Karen nodded, her face thoughtful. She didn't look dangerous: a skinny woman in her fifties, with a bad dye-job and the lines of motherhood and responsibility carved deep on her dark face. Her hands were calm on the shotgun. There was something white on the shoulder of her shirt; Jack suspected it was spit-up.

"Didn't think so. And if it's going to happen, I'd rather have you in the mix. You're the luckiest damn bastard I know, Jack O'Neill. I just hope you're right."

Karen nodded toward the trees, and her men followed as she walked away without another word.

The wind picked up, blowing the grass in waves across the meadow. A bird landed on the table and pecked at something before flying away. Jack waited until he was sure Karen's men were gone, and the sun was burning on the back of his neck, before he pushed himself to his feet.

"So," said Daniel, without getting up. "Was she right?" A little uncertain, like in the old days before Oma, before Senneth.

Jack turned around and let the sun hit his face before he answered. "She wasn't wrong."

  
+=+=+

  
**Boston, T minus 7 days**

  
In the end, they'd dictated the information to the Tau'ri slave, while she typed, swore at the computer, and muttered about things like "projections" and "metadata". It took days, endless days during which Rah'nak's office was given over to the droning voice of his body slave Petros, who could barely read but was trusted absolutely within the narrow realm of his jurisdiction.

At the end, Petros turned over the last sheet and looked attentively up at his master. "We are finished, my lord." The Tau'ri girl slumped forward in her chair, rubbing her eyes on the palms of her hands.

Rah'nak looked at the window: it was late in the day, close to time for the evening meal. And he had an appointment. "You may retire; I shall return later."

Petros bowed, and was gone, padding out the door on silent feet.

"Tau'ri."

The girl looked up, her face apprehensive. "My lord?" At least she'd learned the proper form of address. Rah'nak generously overlooked the crumpled food wrapper on the table next to the computer.

"I must go; you will have the finished map ready in the morning."

She paled. "But I--yes. Yes, my lord." It was good to have servants who knew their duty. If she performed adequately, perhaps he would provide better clothes for her.

Now it was time for his appointment. Rah'nak straightened his collar and walked down the hall to the grand staircase, the one leading upstairs.

Kiralla, the glorious and divine, no longer considered Boston to be her primary seat. Since she had absorbed Zeraf's domain, she had been spending more and more time in Las Vegas. It was, Rah'nak was led to believe, more fitting for a System Lord, as Kiralla called herself.

Rah'nak was careful not to compare Kiralla's twelve al'kesh and fifty thousand Jaffa with the unrivalled armies of a true System Lord. At least, not anywhere that anyone could hear him. If his goddess desired to be a System Lord, she would be one. She was a god, after all.

Today his goddess was in Boston, making some arrangements for the summit she had called. Rah'nak had not been informed as to why Kiralla had to be in Boston for this purpose, but it was not his duty to inquire, either. He merely served, and such service brought honor to his family and his gods.

The room upstairs, where the goddess was to be found, was the grandest room in the building. The ceiling was high, carefully carved or shaped, and white, with dark wooden beams crossing it at regular intervals. The floor had been more wood, laid in thin glossy strips, but soon after their arrival the goddess had it covered with layer after layer of brilliant soft carpets. She hung them on the walls, as well: patterns and figures in infinite combinations, jewel tones covering the soft green plaster. Even the tall windows along the outside walls were covered, filtering the light to a dim glow. Now the room felt smaller, warmer; not a receiving room for a goddess, but a bower, fit only for the purest and most honored of her servants.

The goddess stood by the window, swaying gently to yet more unnervingly sweet Tau'ri music. One slim hand held the curtain open, so the light of the setting sun poured over her naked body. This host--her fourth since the invasion--was tiny, curvaceous, with a fall of hair that had been black. But Kiralla had colored it within days of taking the host, and now it was the color of the purpling sky outside the building, with occasional flashes of silver.

Rah'nak paused in the door and bowed deeply. "Divine and glorious mistress."

She turned smoothly, but despite her grace, she... jiggled. Rah'nak tried to keep his eyes on the floor. It was difficult.

"Rah'nak, my dearest servant." This was not true. But the goddess spoke with such warmth that he bowed again. "I called you here." She paused by the great tank that towered against the inside wall. The water inside was dark, hiding its contents; occasionally something silvery-grey touched the glass and then was gone. "I called you here?"

She was a goddess; Rah'nak chose to believe she was testing him. He could not dictate, but he could not be unprepared. "In order to brief you on security matters?"

"Yes." She stepped away from the tank and slipped a scarlet length of cloth around her body. Once adequately wrapped, she lowered herself onto the pile of pillows in the corner. "You may approach."

The floor was uneven, with all the carpets. Rah'nak walked cautiously, lifting his boots high, and knelt before her. Her toenails were a brilliant sparkling green.

"We shall soon be able to identify the hiding place of some of the terrorists, divine one. Within days, they shall be removed, and your blessed light will shine into the dark places where they had poured their filth into the ears of your people." He didn't have the information yet, but he never told her anything he wasn't sure of. He would find their hideout, and strike.

This host had black eyes; they glittered as Kiralla cocked her head to the side, as if hearing something in the music other than meaningless words about love. All the songs of the Tau'ri were about sexual passion and longing, as if there were no power in words of strength, songs of family and history and the shoulder of a sword-brother beside you in battle. Rah'nak stopped his ears to the endless wailing.

"You will kill them?" she asked, finally, a bright smile on her face. She looked no older than Rah'nak's youngest daughter; and indeed she might be young--he knew that much about the gods--but she was, of course, far greater in wisdom and knowledge than any member of his family.

"I will kill them, divine one."

"Very well. Continue." She waved, and he climbed to his feet as gracefully as possible.

He bowed, and backed toward the door. "Your will shall be accomplished, blessed and glorious--"

"Rah'nak." Now her voice was hard, her gaze fixed on the tank.

"Yes, divine one?"

The sun was gone now, the light in the room was muted, and the look on her face indecipherable from this distance. "Save me two. I shall need them. Make sure they're pretty."

"As my mistress commands."

  
+=+=+

  
**Cedar Ridge Lodge, Adirondack Park, T minus 7 days**

  
Daniel and the colonel returned to the lodge not long after sunset, on a day when it had rained, and cleared, and rained again. There was only a narrow opening in the trees west of the lodge, but it was enough to see the sky on fire as the sun descended behind the clouds. It had been a long day of training: Sam and Teal'c had run the teams through drill after drill, until even the strongest were stumbling with exhaustion.

Sam didn't feel sorry for it: she wouldn't be there to look out for them, and all she had to give was her own experience. When they broke for the day, slogging uphill through the mud to the lodge, Sam considered making them run, then changed her mind. At this point, exercise was irrelevant: either they were fit or they weren't. So they all walked, Sam chatting easily with Teal'c about drills they would try tomorrow, and ignoring the resentful glares of the thirty-odd team members trailing along behind.

Dinner was ready when they got back, prepped by the few on radio and perimeter duty. They'd get their drill time tomorrow, and the day after: Teal'c had worked out a rotation so everyone got at least four full days of training before they would leave.

Not that most of them knew what the job entailed, other than shooting Jaffa. That would wait until there was little chance of word getting out. Not that the team wasn't trusted, but why take the risk? Sometimes the Jaffa actually asked questions, although usually they just killed anyone traveling without the proper authorizations, or with weapons, or with something they wanted.

Sam and Teal'c were bent over the coffee table, breaking teams into squads, when the door banged open and a gust of wind sent Sam's flowchart skittering across the floor. She leapt after it, and snatched it up before it disappeared under the stove.

"Nice moves, there, Carter," said the colonel. "Way to stop the escaping... list."

"Thanks, sir," she said, and accepted his hand up. He was wet, his hair slicked darkly to his head: it must have started raining again. Sam looked past him to see Daniel holding the door for a number of strangers, who straggled in to stand dripping awkwardly on the tile floor of the vestibule.

"You found some," she said, in mild surprise. The plan had been for the colonel and Daniel to bring in more personnel, but Sam had been skeptical of their chances. There weren't a lot of people left who were willing to go up against the Jaffa, at least not openly.

O'Neill nodded and released her hand. "C'mon, I'll introduce you."

Sam caught about two of the six names thrown at her: Cannon, a tank-like young black man in a red sweatshirt, and Graves, a tall redheaded woman with a runner's build. The rest went by in a blur: a Latino woman, and three young white men in jeans and soaked flannel shirts. Cannon and the Latina were Army: lucky survivors of the massive strikes against more than half of the military bases in the country. On those installations that hadn't been destroyed in the first wave of attacks, commanders had tried to fight back: few of those had survived the attempt. There hadn't even been time to get most of the planes into the air.

With Marie's help, Sam got the new recruits stashed away, and came back half an hour later to find the colonel and Daniel hunched over Teal'c's maps. Daniel hadn't even taken off his jacket. Sam grabbed a dish-towel from the kitchen and dropped it on his head before nudging the colonel out of the way so she could look, too.

"Huh," she said, staring down at it. Las Vegas was_big_. "You gonna walk?"

O'Neill shook his head. "Steal a car, I think. We can bring a can of gas with us."

"I would prefer a Mustang convertible."

Three heads swiveled to stare at Teal'c. He lifted an eyebrow serenely. "I have never driven one. And it is considered to be the classic American sports car."

Sam bit her tongue on a comment about the wind whipping through Teal'c's hair, and pinched Daniel before he said it, either.

"You'll only have an hour," Daniel pointed out, running a thoughtful finger along Interstate 15 through downtown Las Vegas. "Where do you think they are, exactly?"

O'Neill snickered and Sam cackled; but the other two just looked at them blankly.

"Daniel, you doofus," said Sam with a grin. "The Luxor, of course."

  
+=+=+

  
**Boston, T minus 6 days**

  
The Tau'ri bred without regard for convenience, for the ability of the land to sustain them or the limits of their water supply. They clustered in teeming millions, more people in each city than Rah'nak had seen inhabiting entire worlds in the System Lords' domains. The density of development had limited Kiralla's options for stabling her squadrons of death gliders. As a result, Serak, the First Prime, had directed the construction of a great apron in front of Kiralla's headquarters building, the building the local Tau'ri called the State House.

The Tau'ri of the city had watched the trees of the great garden felled, some of them weeping. Others merely gathered up the wood in baskets and boxes and took it away, doubtless for use as fuel. While Kiralla, in her generosity, supported the systems that maintained clean water and disposed of sewage in the city, heat and power were primarily restricted to essential areas, such as the goddess' abode and the Jaffa barracks in Copley Square.

Now the great expanse of the public gardens was fenced, guarded, and populated by row after row of sleek and deadly spacecraft. It was, Rah'nak thought as he approached the guard station, as impressive a sight as the greenery had been: and infinitely more useful for his purposes.

Rah'nak sat on a bench just inside the gate, while the Jaffa on guard, a young man from one of Apophis' old worlds, sent a Tau'ri child running to fetch the captain. This was not an imposition; it was a pleasant summer evening, the sky beginning to be brightened by stars while some faint streaks of light lingered in the west above the roofs of the Back Bay. Bicyclists whirred past, and the light wind carried the smell of charring meat from the food vendors on the corner. After last winter's deadly fires, fewer people were willing to cook indoors, and the street cooks' business was only limited by the availability of supplies. But then there were now fewer people in need of such supplies than there had been.

It was a pleasant wait, here in the peace of the city, and Rah'nak smiled and nodded courteously when Captain Sheketh approached. "Tec'ta-re," acknowledged Sheketh. "Blessed are we in the light of the goddess."

"Blessed are we," responded Rah'nak. "I will have need of two squadrons tomorrow. With luck, early in the day. They will be ready?"

An eyebrow twitched, but Sheketh merely nodded. Curiosity was generally discouraged in the ranks. "They will be, and happy to be deployed. Should I have strafing guns mounted?"

Rah'nak pondered. Strafing guns were preferred for controlling the populace, but were less useful in battle than the tactical guns, as they had less accuracy at range. "Yes, but keep two gliders with tactical; we may need them." He stood up and clapped Sheketh on the shoulder. "We strike against the human resistors tomorrow, Sheketh. Glory to the goddess!"

Sheketh nodded, but kept his voice low. "Glory to the goddess." The gliders glistened, looming in the darkness, as Rah'nak walked past the squadrons on the way to his dwelling. Tomorrow held great promise.

The next morning Rah'nak was in his office early, before the sun was even a hand above the horizon, and only a few Tau'ri were on the streets. But the girl was there, curled on the floor under the table, her face hidden behind sweeps of tangled mud-brown hair.

At the creak of the door, or perhaps Rah'nak's step, she woke, scrambled out from under the table, and stood. "It is done, my lord. The maps."

But there was nothing on the table. "Where?"

"On the computer. I can show you."

Tau'ri computers were not like those of the gods; they were difficult, temperamental, and inconsistent. But they also were capable of things Rah'nak had never thought about, things that could be of great use to a Second-Captain. Things that might--he cut that thought off and concentrated on what the girl was showing him.

"See, I wasn't sure what you were looking for, and we've got all these layers. So I sorted the incidents by intensity--small, medium, large--and did a layer for those. And then I did 'em chronologically, by date. And they're all plotted, once I got the fucking projections right." Half of what she said meant nothing, but her hands flickered across the keyboard, moving the cursor across the screen, clicking, selecting, deselecting.

"Show me a big picture, then," he said when she paused. "All of them."

"Big, okay," she said. Click, click, mutter, and the images began to appear on the screen in the box. The outlines of the political units, and the highways and rivers, all in pale colors on a black background. "Okay, now these are the incidents going all the way back to October '03." The image rippled, and then splotches appeared: dull red circles of various sizes spattering across the screen, like blood on a battlefield. There were a lot of them: they covered the entire range of the map, from Boston in the east up to Montreal, and east to Chicago. There was no discernable pattern, although they were densest near the cities.

Rah'nak frowned. "This is not useful."

"But wait, my lord!" The girl scrabbled at the keyboard. "Let's look at just the big incidents." Most of the red dots disappeared, leaving only the largest, twenty or so of them. There was still no apparent pattern, but they were generally clustered in or near the cities. There were none, however, in Boston.

Rah'nak grunted. "Show me by date. And focus closer there," he said, stabbing at Boston.

Slowly, as the sun climbed and the room grew hot, the patterns emerged. Sly, these Tau'ri were sly. Sharp with cunning. They hid in plain view, going out from Boston to attack Jaffa on patrol, or in other cities. And then, in the winter, they moved, the circle of their range shifting westward.

Westward? Rah'nak stood up and went to the door. "Petros!" he shouted. "Find me Fellek's slave, you know the one. Send him to me here."

"At once, my lord."

Fellek's slave had mentioned that the Tau'ri radio signals were increasing. There was more traffic, and while it all sounded innocent, unlike the Tok'ra transmission they had captured, it was Rah'nak's duty to suspect innocence. To break it, if he needed to, in order to protect the goddess.

Something was going to happen.

  
+=+=+

  
**Cedar Ridge Lodge, Adirondack Park, T minus 5 days **

  
"Jack."

Jack raised his cup of spruce tea, or whatever the hell it was, to Jacob. "Morning, Jacob. Teal'c said you'd blown in." The weather, thankfully, had cleared, and the previous day's rain was evident only the mud in the yard. It was going to be hot later, but right now the morning air was pleasant on the big deck.

Jacob put his mug on the railing and leaned against it. He'd given up his Tok'ra wardrobe, and had traded it for the same uniform they all wore: T-shirt and a pair of old jeans. Jack stared a rip by Jacob's knee and realized he'd never seen Jacob out of uniform before--of one sort or another.

"Sam says you talked to Randolph."

Jack grimaced and swallowed some bitter tea. "Yeah. Didn't go well."

"I warned you."

"You did. Had to try, though." God, he hated this stuff. Jack chucked the rest of his tea over the railing.

"Hey!" A familiar voice protested.

Jack blinked.

Jacob leaned out over the railing. "Sam? What are you doing down there?" There was a muffled laugh, and first Carter, then Daniel, came up the stairs. Jack hoped Jacob didn't see Daniel surreptitiously pulling down his T-shirt. Carter was wiping tea off her face.

"Oh, hey, Dad," said Carter. If she was blushing, Jack couldn't see it. "We were doing some inventory, seeing if there's anything we can use down there."

"And?" asked Jack dryly.

"Not much," admitted Daniel. "Unless the Goa'uld have a hitherto unsuspected terror of wheelbarrows, I think we're stuck with the original plan."

Jack grunted in disappointment. "Should never have hung onto that stock in Home Depot."

"So, Dad, how did it go?" Sam pulled a bench over to the table and sat down, facing the sun. "We still on schedule?"

Teal'c was in the kitchen; Jack waved at him through the big windows, and he nodded. He came out with a bowl of something brown and glutinous and sat down at the table as Jacob began his report.

"According to my sources, the summit's still on schedule. They start arriving tomorrow, and it runs through Saturday. That gives us a pretty flexible window to pull this off."

Daniel had found a pair of sunglasses and pulled them on against the glare of the early-morning sun. "Do we know if Sindle's going?"

Jacob shook his head. "No word yet. I think he's worried, and has good reason to be. His position is very tenuous: Kiralla's got him hemmed in. But if he goes, he may be able to line up some other allies. We're just going to have to risk him staying put."

As he was about to continue, Jack held up a hand. "Carter, aren't you supposed to be somewhere about now?"

She looked at the sun, and into the kitchen. "I let them sleep in a little this morning, but you're right, we should get moving. Teal'c can brief me later on anything I need to know. C'mon, Daniel." She stood up from the bench and leaned over to give her father a hug. "Glad you're back, Dad. I'll see you at dinner, 'kay?"

The two of them disappeared into the kitchen, Daniel with an apologetic shrug at Jack and Jacob. Jack turned away to see Jacob looking at him meaningfully. "What? What?"

Jacob threw a glance at the kitchen door. "What do you think about those two?"

Jack shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem. Besides, I'm hardly in a position to bitch about fraternization issues, Jacob."

"Uh... right." Jacob stared at him for a moment. "It's funny, though. I always kind of thought..."

"Thought what?" asked Jack.

Teal'c spoke for the first time since sitting down. "Daniel Jackson and Major Carter seem most well-suited."

Jacob shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind." But he turned away with what looked like a sly smile, to watch the new recruits and a bunch of the older hands as they streamed out of the lodge and into the yard, their footsteps shaking the floorboards of the old deck. From the yard, they headed down one of the trails toward the training area down the hill, where Carter and Daniel would run them ragged for six or eight hours, and maybe even save a few lives in the long run.

Jack slitted his eyes at Jacob suspiciously, but put it away. There were two brains in that head, each as stubborn as the other: he wouldn't get anything out of either of them. So he changed the subject. "Right. So, are the Russians in?"

Jacob settled back against the railing more comfortably. "As much as they can be. I got back in touch with Colonel Chekhov, he's outside of Vladivostok now, and he promised they'd do what they could."

"And will they?" inquired Teal'c. "I have not heard that their resistance efforts have been successful."

"Well, you'd have the Jaffa perspective," admitted Jacob. "But Chekhov has a lot of contacts, and the Goa'uld are spread even more thinly there than they are here. A lot of Russia has no Jaffa presence at all."

"Weapons?"

Jacob nodded. "There's a lot of armories the Goa'uld never found. Russia's_big_, Jack."

As if Jack didn't know that. "Fine. Did you get a schedule?"

"Well, inasmuch as we could work one out. Chekhov said they might be able to start making trouble within the week. But it'll take them a while to get to St. Pete; he's lost contact with a lot of people."

Jack was silent for a while, thinking. With the Russians in the mix, it would help; but this wasn't Independence Day, and there wasn't a way to get everyone on the planet to rise at once. Even if they pulled this off, there was going to be a long messy period of cleanup.

"I did get some good news, though," offered Jacob. "You'll get a kick out of this."

"Indeed?" Teal'c canted his head, giving Jack a severe case of deja vu. Seven years and the man_still_looked and sounded, well, like a Jaffa. Even in Docs and a jean jacket with a squawking chicken on the back. Daniel gave him a lot of shit about the chicken.

"Oh, yeah." Jacob grinned. "Turns out the Israelis got fed up with that weasel Norkane bleating about his godhood, teamed up with Hamas, and blew him to kingdom come."

"No shit!" Jack cackled.

"Of course, it won't last," added Jacob, sobering. "Shintar's already moving in Jaffa from Turkey. But you have to hand it to them, they did good."

"They must have sacrificed much," said Teal'c. He looked somber, and Jack wondered how many Jaffa died with Norkane, and how many of them were just men doing their job, providing for their families. No matter how much effort Teal'c put into infiltrating the Jaffa ranks, building resentment and divisiveness, the truth was that an awful lot of Jaffa were going to die in the upcoming months. Teal'c's loyalty to Earth had always been premised on the Tau'ri helping to free his people; Jack worried, not for the first time, how close that bond was to breaking, now that Earth was in no position to even help herself.

But the day was aging rapidly, and they had a lot of work to do; no time for thinking about what couldn't be changed. "What else do we have, Jacob? Did you talk to Curran?" Nathaniel Curran had been the pastor at The Holy Church of Jesus in Colorado Springs: which was sort of like saying the Pope was a priest in Rome. Curran's congregation in Colorado alone was over ten thousand strong, and Before, he'd had affiliated churches in a dozen states, with a weekly radio program and a syndicated newspaper column.

Last summer, word had leaked out from Colorado that Curran had survived the initial attack and Sindle's follow-up clearances of Colorado Springs, and was building some kind of resistance militia in the mountains. He was hitting Sindle's Jaffa where he could, stirring up activity all along the Front Range and further into the west. It was an opportunity Jack couldn't fail to exploit, despite Carter's misgivings about the man's politics in the past. Jack had initiated contact, by way of hand-carried notes, stolen cars, and, at one memorable point, carrier pigeon. Curran had been reluctant at first, but since then the intelligence had been flowing irregularly from not only Colorado, but a number of Curran's people in other cities. The next stage of the overall strategy relied on Curran's involvement, and Jacob had gone to meet with the pastor personally to lay out the plan.

"He's in," said Jacob. "We're set to rendezvous on Friday morning, in Manitou Springs. He's not sure how much support he can provide, but if he's got more than twenty we'll have to figure out a shuttle, or maybe a couple of trucks."

Better than Jack had expected; Curran was free enough with his intelligence, but sending his people into battle was something else. "Any kind of experience? And what's the situation with the Gate?"

"I would not expect Curran's people to be seasoned warriors," said Teal'c. "They may be enthusiastic, but they will not have had even the minimal training our people here have received." Which was Jaffa code for: _cannon fodder._

"I have to agree," affirmed Jacob unhappily. "Curran's got an Army staff sergeant helping out, but he's lost a lot of people, and most of the military who lived in the area--well, you know." Most of the military personnel in Colorado were dead or fled. Sindle had made sure of that, early on.

There was a silence, and then Jacob went on. "As for the Gate, Curran didn't have much. There's been some traffic, but he can't get people very close to the complex. He doesn't really know what the Gate is, anyway, but he would have noticed if they were getting a lot of men or supplies that way. My suspicion is that they're not getting much support from off-world."

"That's what we've been counting on," said Jack. "If we're wrong, we're in a hell of a spot." It was probably a good thing Jack's appetite had faded away to almost nothing, because as the moment approached, the thought of throwing sixty untrained volunteers against Jaffa soldiers with decades of field experience kept his stomach in a constant state of revolt. Even with miraculous luck, a lot of these kids were going to die.

_Let it be worth it._

_Let me not have fucked this up._

  
+=+=+

  
**Boston, T minus 4 days**

  
There were four likely neighborhoods in the city: Rah'nak picked the most troublesome one. It wasn't hard to round up twenty Tau'ri and pen them in the middle of the street at midday. He punctuated his commands by directing the gliders overhead to take out the church on the corner; several of the captives wept as it smoked, the northern wall crumbling into the street.

"Listen to me, slaves!" Rah'nak's amplified voice boomed over the street, bouncing off the brick walls and concrete sidewalks. People were gathered in doorways, crouched behind abandoned vehicles, peering through windows. It was enough of an audience to make his point.

"Your goddess is most displeased! Kiralla loves you as her own, but you turn away from her! You vandalize her holy places--" That much was true: someone had left the rotting corpse of a dog splayed across the State House stairs two nights previously. "--and you deny her worship! She is a goddess, divine and glorious, but her patience is not limitless!"

Rah'nak nodded to Bekkan, who dropped his staff to waist-height. "We will kill two prisoners today, and two more every day until those responsible for the attack on the Jaffa at the port turn themselves in! Or are brought to us for justice!" Rah'nak dropped his hand; Bekkan fired, and two of the Tau'ri, an older woman and a young man, fell screaming to the ground.

They were left there, writhing, as Bekkan ordered the hostages loaded into a truck. Rah'nak climbed into the passenger seat, and they left, guided and flanked by gliders swinging low over the rooftops. Rah'nak heard the wailing behind them until the truck turned a corner at last, and the sound was cut off. The hostages on the truck were mostly silent, clinging to one another under the gaze of Bekkan's men.

"Find me the most attractive of the hostages," said Rah'nak, as they made the turn onto Park Street. "Two of them, male and female. Have them cleaned and bring them to me within three hours."

"It will be done, Second-Captain."

Rah'nak got out of the truck in front of the State House and went up the wide stairs, as Bekkan continued down the street. Rah'nak wasn't sure where the hostages would be housed, not that it mattered much. They would all be dead in days: none of these Tau'ri had sufficient honor to sacrifice himself for the life of another.

He had directed the girl to stay in the room with the computer, and he was pleased to see she had done so. She was, again, sleeping under the table. He made a mental note to obtain her a pad or blanket, and then hesitated. She had done all he asked, and more: without her, he would not be as close as he was to finding the Tau'ri insurgents. She was attractive under the dirt, smart and deferential: she deserved better than dirty clothes and a pad on the floor.

"Girl," he said.

She mumbled, looked up, and jumped to her feet. "My lord!" Kept her eyes on the floor, very appropriately. Yes, this would do.

"What is your name?"

She didn't look up, but he could see her confusion in how her shoulders stiffened. "Da-Dana Johannsen, my lord."

He frowned, baffled. Why would she be called "son of" anyone? Then he shrugged; much about the Tau'ri made no sense. "You have served well, Dana, and you will be rewarded."

"My lord?" She shuffled her feet, and glanced up at him before looking down again.

"Petros!"

"Yes, my lord?" Thank the goddess for a well-trained slave.

Rah'nak nodded at the girl. "This creature is Dana. She is going to enter the goddess' service. Have her cleaned and find her appropriate clothing. Quickly," he added, conscious of the time. The goddess would need a proper attendant before he brought the hostages to her.

"At once, my lord." Petros bowed and went out, dragging the girl--Dana--behind him. She cast a look back a Rah'nak, full of confusion and fear. She did not yet understand the honor she was to receive. Serving the goddess directly was reserved to the very few; but she was intelligent, for a Tau'ri: she would learn.

Petros was back in an hour, shining with accomplishment. "Look, my lord! Have we not served the goddess well?" Rah'nak turned away from his endless contemplation of the maps, and looked at the girl.

Her hair had been cut, all the orange chopped away, and now it swung freely, glossy brown, about her shoulders. Her skin was fairer than he had expected, and a soft green tunic set off the smooth cream skin on her arms and legs. Petros had even found sandals for her, with gold tassels, and a necklace with a lily icon to hang around Dana's neck. A matching bracelet was locked around her wrist. Rah'nak touched his forehead involuntarily, where the same symbol was seared. Dana would never know the joy of_his_service, but what she was offered was very great indeed.

"Very well," he agreed, nodding. "Very well indeed. Let us go, then, and present you." He did not take the girl's hand--she was a slave, after all--but he rested a hand on her head in benediction before proceeding to the stairway. Where he paused, and looked back. "Come!"

Petros gave her a little push. "Go on! Go with my lord Rah'nak! No harm will come to you."

Rah'nak led the way up the stairs and down the hall to the goddess' bower. One of her attendants, an old woman who had come all the way from Tenarath with them, crouched against the wall outside the room.

"Will she see us?" he murmured softly, careful not to disturb the goddess.

"She sees no one," snorted the slave. "She is breeding again, my lord."

The old woman was insubordinate, but fiercely loyal to Kiralla; Rah'nak stayed his hand. Besides, her words disturbed him. "So soon?"

"She will not wait, that one. It consumes her. Hah! Who is this?" she asked, peering at Dana behind Rah'nak's shoulder. "A new host?"

Rah'nak shook his head. "Not yet. But the blessed and divine has had no lo'taur since we came, and this shames me. I think she will approve."

The old woman narrowed her eyes and looked at Dana, and then shrugged. "As may be, as may be. You go on, then."

Before pushing open the door, Rah'nak paused, looking down at Dana. "Speak only when spoken to," he said. "This is a great thing. No Tau'ri has ever been so honored." She nodded, her face blank.

The blessed and glorious one had had a large bath brought into the room: it filled fully a quarter of the space, its glossy black surface incompatible with the warm multicolored surfaces in the rest of the room. It was filled with water, steam rising gently in the air. The goddess was sprawled in the tank, arms splayed over the sides, her head hanging back. Her dark hair was invisible against the water. As they watched, she twitched, her hands spasming, clenching on the rim of the tank. Then she sighed, smiling, her eyes closed, and relaxed.

Rah'nak sank to his knees, and motioned for the girl to kneel as well. "Mistress," he said softly, pitching his voice to just a little louder than the music. "I bring you a gift."

Kiralla sighed again, opening her eyes. She looked weary: breeding would do that. "A girl or a boy?"

"A girl," he admitted, gesturing to Dana. "For your lo'taur. To honor you."

"Lo'taur," the goddess repeated, as if uncertain. Then her eyes cleared, and she pushed herself up into a sitting position. The water streamed down her bare breasts. Ripples spread out from her, and continued, spreading all around the tank, as if a dozen stones had been tossed into the water. "Stand up, girl," she ordered.

Dana rose; Rah'nak urged her forward with one hand. She approached the tank and stopped when she was about ten feet away. Rah'nak held his breath; if she broke--

But she did not. She stood still, the tunic barely quivering, her eyes locked on the floor. She would do well; very few were able to withstand the glory of the goddess' presence.

"Turn around," said Kiralla.

Dana turned around, slowly. Her face was pale, but she did not appear afraid. Perhaps she did not realize the enormity of the moment.

"She will do, if she has to. For now, I will have her attend me. Girl!" Kiralla snapped. "Find me some of that brown sweet, and fetch my green robe."

Dana's head whipped up. Rah'nak said, "Now," and she turned around and sped from the room. She would do well.

"Rah'nak, my beloved servant," said the goddess. "Tell me you have a new host for me?"

As he stood, she slipped down into the water, clenched again, and jerked. Her face tightened; he thought he might even have seen pain on it. From a standing position, he could see the water was not clear, but murky. Pale things moved in it, passing through the darker swirls of liquid. Many pale things: the goddess was forcing herself, forcing this host.

"Indeed, yes, glorious one. Within--" And he was cut off by a cough at the door. The old woman opened it to show Bekkan, and behind him, two bound Tau'ri. Both were young, apparently attractive behind their gags: the girl in particular was curving and lovely, with dark braids wound with gold wire, spiraling to her waist. "Here they are, my goddess." Rah'nak signaled from Bekkan to enter.

He suspected Kiralla would be pleased: she preferred lush, fecund hosts. In fact, she sat up as they entered, her eyes brightening. But her strength was going; Rah'nak feared she had waited too long. He saw her hand shake on the side of the tank, and averted his eyes, shamed.

"Strip them," Kiralla whispered. The young man tried to run, but Bekkan knocked his knees out from under him, and he collapsed to the floor. Rah'nak cut his clothes off; Bekkan did the same to the girl, who was shaking in terror. He took a moment to pity these people, who had no comprehension of the honor they were offered, merely to be in the same room with the goddess.

Bekkan pulled the youth up, to stand beside the girl. Their skin was almost the same shade: a warm, soothing tone, reminding Rah'nak of home, of winter nights in his wife's bed. Kiralla began to climb out of the tank, and then grunted, closing her eyes, twisting her body. One hand slapped the surface of the water.

"Rah'nak," she said, her eyes still closed, body shaking. "Bring the girl--"

Now? Rah'nak had never--but he grabbed the girl and moved her over to the tank. Her skin was soft, her hair a lovely dark brown, the gold glittering in the light of the many candles. She would never age, that soft skin would never wrinkle; men and women would die for a glance from her wide eyes, a smile. His hands shook as he maneuvered her closer to the goddess.

As he turned her, he saw Dana had returned, a bundle in her hands. She stood against the wall next to the door, staring. She too would remember this moment her entire life.

"Now," said the goddess, and slid a wet hand around the back of the girl's neck. "Lovely," she whispered, running a trembling hand over the girl's breasts, curving her palm over a round hip. "Lovely." Then she buried her hand in the dark braids and, with surprising strength, forced the girl's face close to hers. "And now mine."

When it was done, the body of the old host fell into the tank, as if deboned. The eyes gazed sightless at the ceiling before the water closed over its face. The goddess, reborn, staggered. She had a trickle of blood at the edge of her mouth; the girl had fought. Her hand stretched out, and before Rah'nak could stop himself, he took it. "Mistress," he murmured.

There was a muffled wail, and the male prisoner lunged at Bekkan. This time Bekkan did not stop with clubbing the boy down, but put his staff to the boy's chest and fired once. The reek of burning flesh filled the room.

The goddess swayed again, clinging to Rah'nak. "I must rest," she said. He assisted her across the room to the great bed of pillows, and eased her down, first wrapping her in the soft green robe that Dana handed him. "So many," Kiralla whispered, her smile immediately recognizable even on this new face. "I made so many babies. I will raise up an army of my children. I must do more, but I am so tired--"

"Rest, my goddess," Rah'nak said daringly, drawing a cloth over her. "Rest. More tomorrow."

It was too much: he was overcome with the glory. He had seen the goddess herself, not the semblance she showed the world, but her actual body. He did not think the First Prime himself had ever done so much. His hands were still shaking as he backed away, bowing.

At the door he turned to go, and saw the girl Dana, standing once more against the wall, her face even paler than before. Her hands were clenched in the material of her tunic. "You did well," he said to her, and she turned her face to him blindly. "Stay with her, now. She is weary with the breeding, but she will revive soon. And then we will go."

She blinked at him, glanced at the tank, at the other glass-fronted tank against the opposite wall, and at the goddess. "Go where?" she finally asked.

But Rah'nak shook his head. "It is not for a slave to ask these questions. Serve your goddess; all will be well."

"Remove the bodies," he ordered Bekkan, and then left, reassured in his choice and immeasurably pleased with the day.

  
+=+=+

  
**Cedar Ridge Lodge, Adirondack Park, T minus 3 days**

  
Jeff Kendry had found a guitar, and was strumming it in the lounge, sitting on the back of the couch like some folksinger from the sixties. Marie and Casey were singing along cheerfully, if somewhat off-key, to "Sweet Home Alabama". Teal'c was trying, but he didn't know the words. Sam winced and ducked back into the kitchen.

"I feel old," she said, leaning against the counter.

"You're not old," Daniel replied dutifully, wrapping an arm around her waist. Sam looked around for her father, but he must have gone out, leaving just a handful of people in the kitchen, and she relaxed. "Why do you feel old?"

She shrugged. "It's the night before a big mission, and I don't want to party. I don't want to dance, or, or sing--" Jeff bungled a triumphant chord and Daniel twitched. "--or even drink. We've done this so many times, even the fear isn't new anymore." She was twitchy and restless, the way she always got, but there was a weary tinge to it, unlike the frenetic emotions in the other room. Her fear was locked in a drawer, and she'd let it out afterwards, in the aftermath. Or maybe she wouldn't have to, this time.

Daniel didn't say anything, but she didn't expect him to. She shifted into him, slipping her left hand into the waistband of his jeans. The kitchen was large and warm, the windows reflecting back only the candles gleaming. They'd lit most of their candles, squandering them for once. Tonight was the last night they'd all be here: tomorrow Sam and Daniel, Marie and Casey would leave, and then on Thursday night the rest would squeeze into Jacob's ship for the trip west.

Not for the first time, Sam wished the navigation computer on Goa'uld spacecraft could be more precisely programmed. But without a signal to ride in on, there was no guarantee the al-kesh would hit the target. From orbit, after all, a hotel was pretty damned small.

"Where's Jack?" Daniel asked suddenly.

Sam looked around, but she realized she hadn't seen the colonel for close to an hour, not since the card game on the porch closed down when the mosquitoes got too ugly. "Dunno," she said. But it reminded her of something she'd meant to ask. "So, what'd you guys talk about, coming back from Drum?"

Daniel turned his head slowly and stared at her for a moment. Then he turned away, a smile flickering out of sync with the candlelight. "You want to know what he said about us."

"I didn't say that." After a beat, "Okay, yeah. Did he say anything?"

"Not really, no. It was just like always."

"So you argued about hockey and he drank all your beer?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Except for the beer." Daniel raised his cup at her, and tossed it back. "Bleah."

"Do... do you think he's okay?" The colonel actually smiled once in a while now, it was true. But there was still that distance, something that hadn't ever been there, not when they were all together. Things still weren't_right_.

The door onto the deck swung open.

"I don't know," said Daniel. His eyebrows twitched; down and then up again, as he thought. "Something's wrong, but I don't think--"

"Sam!" Her father stood in the doorway, waving to her urgently.

Daniel had seen him too. "You go on, see what he wants. I'm gonna find Jack."

She squeezed Daniel's hand and followed Jacob out onto the deck. "What is it, Dad?"

"I think we have a problem." He led her around the side of the house to the east door, through that, and into the tiny office that now housed their irreplaceable ham radio. Peter was on duty right now, and he nodded at her as she came in, his face worried under a mop of shaggy black hair.

"Nothing more, sir," he said to Jacob, shaking his head. "Just static. I think--" He cut off, and shook his head again.

"What is it?" Sam looked from Peter to Jacob and back.

Peter put the cracked plastic headphones to one ear and twiddled a knob, and then stopped with a sigh. "Bout five minutes ago, I picked up something: it sounded like Josh."

Josh and Elly had been sent to Boston, to coordinate with Rasul's people, and were planning to stay in Deerfield tonight in the old fire station they'd used several times. There was a radio there, well-hidden with a cache of weapons; but why would Josh need it?

"He was yelling, at first I couldn't follow what he was saying, and then he said, 'They're here, they're here, they followed me! Tell the colonel--'. And then there was a crash, and some yelling, and then a bunch of other voices yelling. I think they were talking snake. And then it just cut out."

Sam went very still. _Talking snake._ How had Josh been followed? Why had he gone for the radio, broadcasting his presence? Where was Elly? And, most terrifying, had the Jaffa captured them alive?

"Sam."

She looked up, her fingers pressed down on the antique desk housing the radio. Jacob's face was half-shadowed, his lips clamped in a grimace. He cocked his head at her. _Well?_

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then met his eyes. "Bug out?"

"Yeah." Jacob nodded and slapped Peter on the shoulder. "Good job, Peter. Pack this up tight, and get your gear. We're going tonight."

Sam stayed in the office as Peter scrambled out, and as her father squeezed her arm before heading for the lounge to spread the word. There was Daniel, and her gear, and she had to remember to get a communicator from her father, her boots were under the bed, the spare cartridge for the P-90, toothbrush and toothpaste, good thing she'd washed her underpants yesterday--and Jack. Her father and Jack.

But her last thought, before slamming the office door behind her, and racing upstairs, was _Oh, Josh._

  
+=+=+

  
**Cedar Ridge Lodge, Adirondack Park, T minus 3 days**

  
There was a corner on the top floor of the lodge, tucked in between the attic door and one of the linen closets, with a window that looked out over the trees. A battered chair had washed up there, one of the spindly wooden ones that broke so easily and probably sold for a lot at auction. It was quiet and out of the way. Jack couldn't hear the party downstairs, except as a soft murmur. There were advantages to being without electricity, once in a while.

Jack sat there, with his elbows propped on his knees, looking at the dusty floor by the light of a tiny candle he'd carried up with him. Trying not to think about how everything could go wrong. Eggs and baskets: there was a reason it was a cliche. But even Jacob hadn't come up with an alternate strategy that promised anywhere near this kind of payoff.

At least this time it wasn't one of Jack's people who would be most at risk: he wasn't letting any one else run the gauntlet for him.

He sighed and tried to scrub the images of failure from his brain. It was always like this before a big mission, and the best way to deal with it was to lock it all down. Carter and Daniel would be leaving tomorrow; he should go down and do the commandery thing. Instead he pressed his fingers into his eyelids, watched the swirls and lights dance for thirty seconds.

When he opened his eyes, there were knees in front of his face. Jack looked up: it was Daniel, arms folded, looking down at him. He was wearing a pair of Josh's jeans, which were too big, and one of Jack's t-shirts, which was too small. Not as small as it would have been once, though.

"Hey," Jack said, and sat up in the chair before he got a crick in his neck.

"Hey." Daniel glanced out the window into the darkness. "Nice view."

Jack shrugged. It was going to be one of _those_ conversations, wasn't it? He really wasn't in the mood. "What do you want, Daniel?" Things with Daniel were better than they had been, pretty close to normal. Sometimes he heard Carter and Daniel laughing: it was good, he told himself. They should.

Nearly two years of believing Daniel was dead had made Jack's memory unreliable, even after he got over the shock of having Daniel back. Looking at him, here, solid and tall and broad with muscle, was unsettling. What had happened to the Daniel of his memory, the floppy hair and awkward fumbling, the eagerness? Jack couldn't slot this man into the same spot in his head, couldn't make him fit. He had to treat him like a stranger. Someone new.

"I wanted to, uh. I wanted to show you something, Jack." Something of a smile wisped across Daniel's face, and then it went back to that calm expression, the one that hid everything. The one Jack suspected Sindle had put there. Daniel still hadn't talked much about what had happened in Colorado Springs after the attack; Jack suspected he never would.

"Can't it wait? I'm kinda busy here." Which wasn't true, in the strictest sense, but he felt obliged to complain. It was what he did.

Daniel's lips quirked again, and this time stayed that way, an odd, self-assured smile. "No, I really don't think it can." He waved a hand a Jack. "C'mon, Jack, stand up."

He was clearly not going to leave until he'd done what he came for. Jack sighed and stood up. "What is it?"

Daniel stepped closer and put a hand on Jack's neck. "This," he said, and pulling Jack toward him, pressed their lips together.

Jack's mind went blank, as if the hard drive had crashed. Daniel put his other hand on the side of Jack's face and moved closer, tilting his head. Jack put his hand on Daniel's chest and opened his mouth to say, "Hey, what--?" and then Daniel's tongue was in his mouth.

It wasn't bad, it wasn't wrong, it was just--this was _Daniel_, with his hands on Jack's head, holding him there, mouth on Jack's, tasting the remnants of dinner. Jack fumbled, his mental processes skipping like an old Beatles LP, and managed to wrap his hands around Daniel's upper arms, fingers pressing into his flexed biceps. As if he could maybe pull Daniel's hands away, push him back.

But Daniel was warmer even than the stale heat of the unventilated hallway, his eyes were bright, and his tongue nimble. His hand was solid and comforting on Jack's neck. He tasted like Carter's toothpaste: he had _planned_ this, the sneaky bastard.

The hands and arms holding Jack in place were corded with muscle; Jack could get away, if he tried, but it wouldn't be easy. Daniel turned him sideways and pressed Jack back against the window, using the whole of his body, using the greater mass that Daniel had always had. The edge of the windowsill cut into the back of Jack's legs, and the window panes rattled against his shoulder blades. It was scary, but it was comforting too, this strength against his chest, his hips, his thighs. Not demanding, just warm, while Daniel kept kissing him, and kissing him, eyes hooded but intent, purposeful. Jack could feel every one of Daniel's fingers moving through his hair, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. It was overwhelming.

While Jack's brain was rebooting, Jack's fingers declared independence. They got bored with flexing against Daniel's biceps and went looking for more skin, pushing up the edge of Daniel's sleeves. Smoothing over the skin, tracing an old staff-weapon scar on Daniel's right arm, moving in ever-larger circles.

Jack's lips and tongue seceded too, and started kissing Daniel back. Other parts of Jack's body started to get interested in the way Daniel's hands felt on his neck, in the way Daniel's weight pressed against him.

_Shit._ In the small part of Jack's brain that was still capable of thought, Jack knew this was a bad idea. But the rest of him _wanted_, damnit. It had been too long.

Finally Daniel let him go, let his arms drop to his sides, and stepped back. He looked disturbingly self-satisfied. "That was what I wanted to show you, Jack." And then the bastard turned to leave.

Jack grabbed his arm. This was something he really wasn't prepared to deal with right now. There was too much to do. But he couldn't--"Daniel, I thought you and Carter--"

The smile that Daniel gave him was both sweet and more than a little arrogant. "What, I can't have layers?" And with that he was gone, walking down the long dusty hallway, sneakered feet almost soundless.

Jack let his hand drop to his side and his body fall back into the chair next to the window. He opened and closed his hands a few times, staring at them in disbelief, then scrubbed them across his face. When he dropped his hands, there was shouting down on the first floor, and footsteps pounding up the stairs. Something had happened.

"Well, hell."

  
+=+=+

  
**Boston, T minus 3 days**

  
The ring platform, for security reasons, had been installed in the main lobby of the State House. Waiting for the goddess to finish her preparations and be ringed up to the al-kesh waiting above, Rah'nak wondered about the Tau'ri and their sense of priorities. This lobby, for instance, was, even after the fighting that had gone on here, rich with marble, finely carved wood, and other ornamentation, clearly valued far above many other buildings in the city. More, even, than many churches, which were spare, sorry things, hardly fit to bring glory to any deity, even the false ones the Tau'ri worshipped.

It was an odd thing, that the mundane work of governing was apparently valued so much more highly by the Tau'ri than their gods were.

There was a step on the balcony, and Rah'nak looked up to see Kiralla, followed by Dana and a few other slaves. They swept down the wide staircase; he knelt as she approached. "Your transport is prepared, most glorious one."

"Excellent," she said. "You may rise, Rah'nak." Her voice had changed, dropped to a lower register, with a softer accent. When he rose, he dared to look in her face, and was reassured to see that she looked fully recovered from the strain of breeding.

The new host had been attractive as a Tau'ri. As a goddess she positively shimmered in her beauty, wrapped in a filmy golden cloth that concealed almost nothing. She wore a ribbon device on one hand and a golden rope secured her long braids behind her. "We are ready, then?"

Rah'nak bowed her into the platform, and was prepared to step in after her when the communicator on his wrist lit up. "My pardon, my mistress," he murmured, and stepped away, nodding to the slave at the controls. As he tapped on the communicator, the rings materialized and Kiralla was gone; Dana gasped audibly.

"This is Rah'nak."

"Tec-ta're, honor to the goddess, this is Bekkan." Bekkan had taken a squadron of gliders out to investigate some of the other locations on the maps Dana had prepared.

"Report."

"We have captured one of the Tau'ri rebels, Tec-ta're. We found him in a building with many weapons, including two staff weapons, and a radio." Bekkan's voice was understandably proud; this was the first time they had captured someone they knew to be one of the resisters. It was difficult, the way the rebels could disappear into the neighborhoods.

Rah'nak smiled. Things were progressing. He crossed the floor and waved the slaves into the center of the ring platform. "You have questioned him?"

"He is but a foot-soldier, my lord, with no strategic information, but he does know where the headquarters of the local group is." Excellent.

The girls clustered in the middle of the platform, Dana looking up at the ceiling with a frown, as if she would see the rings approaching. "Proceed there, use the maps I gave you, and destroy them."

"Shall we take prisoners, Tec-ta're?"

He thought for a moment, and shook his head. "No; we will gain no great information from them. Kill them all and fire the buildings, if there are any. Destroy the weapons. Keep the one you have, though, if you think he can tell you more."

There was a rush of sound as the rings dropped from the ceiling, whisking the slaves away to the al-kesh. "Report back to me when you are done. You have served the goddess well, Bekkan, and you shall be honored for it."

Rah'nak stepped into the ring platform and smiled as Bekkan signed off, his voice tight with pride.

The al-kesh was already in motion when Rah'nak entered the bridge, the pilot taking it up swiftly and out of the atmosphere for the short journey to Las Vegas. Kiralla lounged on a richly-ornamented couch that Rah'nak had provided for her comfort , and motioned for him to approach.

"You have news, Second-Captain?"

"Indeed, most glorious one. We have captured one of the rebels and he has provided us the location of his headquarters. Very soon we will have destroyed their base." Rah'nak did not think he was over-optimistic in this prediction; it would take Bekkan only a few minutes to locate the rebel base, and no Tau'ri weapons could compare to the tactical cannon on the gliders. This particular band of resisters would be dead in minutes.

The goddess smiled, letting the light of her divinity shine through her eyes before dimming again. "Rebels? You have had better luck than you know, my servant." She raised an eyebrow significantly.

"How is that, my goddess?"

She shifted in her seat, the cloth of her robe parting to reveal a nipple here, soft curves of flesh there. Rah'nak glanced away discreetly. "This body," she said, drawing a hand softly down her torso and slipping it inside the folds of her robe below her waist, "is most--responsive. Ah!" She gave a soft gasp and withdrew her hand, smiling demurely. "Also," she wiped her hand delicately on the cushion next to her, "this girl was a resister."

Rah'nak blinked. "She was?" He was so surprised, he forgot the honorific. The goddess did not appear to notice.

"I have said so, have I not? She knows little, was of little value in the fighting, but she has information she tried to hide--hide from _me_." A broad smile, rich with satisfaction, spread across Kiralla's face. "The leaders of these resisters are not simply Tau'ri fighters. This child met two of them, and the names meant nothing to her: but you will know them."

What names--? But Rah'nak had already begun to solve the puzzle. The rumors last year that the shol'va Teal'c had been seen in the south; the surprising escape of dozens of Tau'ri slaves from the workings at the Stargate (news of which Sindle had failed to keep secret); the impressive knowledge the rebels seemed to have of Jaffa operations and weaponry. He didn't know what expression he had on his face, but his thoughts were as glass to the goddess.

"Yes, you see it, my servant." Kiralla nodded serenely. "She met a tall Jaffa with the gold seal of Apophis on his forehead; and a skinny blonde woman they called 'Carter'."

"SG-1," Rah'nak said. The legendary team that had evaded so many of the System Lords, and that had been assumed killed in the first wave of attacks on Earth. They were alive, and they were fighting, and he was mere minutes from destroying them.

"SG-1," the goddess replied, and actually reached out to grasp his arm. Her smile was glorious and triumphant. "Thanks to you, my beloved servant, I will be known forever as the System Lord who defeated SG-1."

  
+=+=+

  
**Cedar Ridge Lodge, Adirondack Park, T minus 3 days**

  
Jacob had run for his ship; he was going to set the sensors for a warning. Sam wasn't sure how much time they might have. Josh wasn't a cop like Benson had been, or ex-military like Cannon. He was just a kid. Maybe the Jaffa would sit on him overnight. Maybe he'd get himself killed. And oh, god, that she had to hope for that.

Sam had learned a long time ago always to have a bag ready to go; she grabbed hers and Daniel's both, fished her boots out from under the bed, and ran back downstairs. The lodge was boiling with activity, but Daniel and Teal'c were there in the middle of the lounge, directing traffic, reassuring the terrified, and generally keeping the chaos to manageable levels.

"No, no," Daniel was saying to Garcia, one of the recent recruits. "Jacob can't land it here, we'll have to hike down. I'm sure you'll all fit--Sam!" he added, grabbed her hand. "Oh, good, you got my pack. Have you talked to Jack?"

"I'm right here, Daniel," said the colonel, from behind Sam. "Good call, Carter." He nodded at her, resting a hand for a moment on her shoulder. "I want this place cleared in ten minutes. Can we do it?"

Sam looked around: there was a gaggle near the door, ready to hike out; boxes of foodstuffs stacked on the deck; and Casey was handing out weapons and boxes of ammunition from the small armory in the corner. "Yes, sir, I think we can."

"Good. Get your team out of here first: if they hit us with gliders, people on the ground are gonna be the most exposed. Get out, get under cover, and _stay there_. No matter what happens." He glared at Daniel, who opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. "Right. Teal'c!"

The crowd parted around Teal'c like a rushing river around an ancient piece of granite. "O'Neill."

"Get those kids in here, I have something to say."

Sam blinked, and Daniel frowned. "Oh, no, not a speech--" Jack glared at him again, and he subsided, but Sam saw him smile, subtly enough for plausible deniability if O'Neill caught him at it.

When the entire group was gathered, squeezed into the lounge with a few crowded around the doors from the dining room and the kitchen, the colonel climbed onto the couch, wobbling on the cushions until Teal'c offered him a steadying shoulder. "You guys are in luck," he announced, after the chatter had died down. "We don't have time for the whole speech I was gonna give you: it was ten pages long, with footnotes. I even had quotes in _Latin_." There was a burst of laughter, and then O'Neill sobered.

"You're good people. Smart, tough. You've learned a lot. You're gonna learn more, things you don't want to know. Things you shouldn't have to know. You're going to learn what it is to kill a man, and some of you are going to learn what it is to die, and to see your friends die. I'm sorry for that."

Forty pairs of eyes were locked on O'Neill's face; Sam knew what the colonel looked like, and spent her time watching everyone else. Daniel's amusement had drained away to leave mostly worry; Teal'c was calm in public, as always; Sam saw her father in the outside doorway, looking anxious but his eyes crinkled with amusement at the colonel balanced on the couch. And then the rest of them, the dozens of people, young and old, civilian and military, men, women, all different races and backgrounds: watching O'Neill, the fear draining away for a moment, to be replaced, if only for a moment, by laughter, pride, and even hope. It hurt to watch.

"But there's something--"

There was a blink of light by the outside door. "Jack!" Jacob shouted. "They're on their way!"

The colonel stumbled off the couch, and pushed through the group towards Jacob; Sam followed. "How many?"

Jacob shook his head. "Can't tell, but more than enough. We gotta go."

"Okay, folks!" O'Neill swiveled his head around. "Everyone head for the training ground! No flashlights, move fast and quiet! If you don't have a pack, it's too late now--just _go_! Oh, and one last thing--and Teal'c will tell you I never lie about this sort of thing--we're gonna win."

The tension in the room was cut by relieved laughter, and people began filing out, fast but without panic, most slinging packs over their shoulders and some picking up boxes of gear and ammunition. "Colonel," Sam said. "You should go."

O'Neill nodded, his eyes hooded as he watched their people leave. Graves and Casey looked nervous, Garcia calm, Peter scared; but they nodded to Sam and the colonel as they headed out. Jeff slapped hands with Sam as he went by, his guitar slung awkwardly on top of his backpack. "Be safe," she said softly.

"Sam," reminded her father. "We gotta go, they'll be here in minutes."

She nodded, and hugged him tightly. "I'll see you soon," she said. "We'll meet you."

"Be careful," he whispered. "You're all I've got." And then he was gone, jogging out the door to bring his ship online, ready to shuttle them all to safety.

Daniel and Teal'c had their arms clasped in that Jaffa greeting, both of them solemn. "Dal shakka mel," Daniel whispered, and at that, Teal'c face twisted: he pulled Daniel into his arms and hugged him.

"Carter," and Sam turned to face the colonel. He was coiled tight within himself, she could tell; all edges, ready to cut with. It was what he'd done since the day the Goa'uld first attacked, and it hurt her to look at him. There were lines on his face he never used to have. "You already have my orders, Carter," he finally said, and put a hand up on her neck, thumb stroking her jaw line once before he let it fall away.

_Don't die,_ he'd said, when she left him in the Dolly Sod, and she nearly broke then. Back when she thought she'd seen the worst of this war. She swallowed hard, forcing back the tears. "I know, sir. Just--you too, sir. Please."

He nodded, the muscles in his jaw twitching, and turned away quickly to Daniel. Teal'c rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, and then hugged her, all strength and compassion. "We will be safe, Samantha Carter. I will protect O'Neill, and you will protect Daniel Jackson. And when I come back," he added, letting her go with a glint of humor, "we will compare notes on the Ford Mustang and its handling."

She choked on a laugh. "We will." Behind Teal'c, Daniel squeezed the colonel's shoulder and murmured something in his ear that made O'Neill bark with surprised laughter; and then they separated, SG-1 split apart again. Sam heard Marie's truck starting up. "Daniel," said Sam, "we have to go." The trucks were outside, and Marie and Casey were waiting. And the gliders were coming.

O'Neill and Teal'c followed Sam out the door, but they turned left at the foot of the stairs, heading down towards Jacob's ship; Sam and Daniel ran for the truck. Sam flung her pack into the pack and jumped into the front seat, turning the key before she even had the door closed. The engine coughed once, roared into life, and then Sam threw it into gear and gunned for the fire road while Daniel was still scrabbling for his seat belt.

As the trees closed over the truck, Sam spotted a flash in the sky to the east: the gliders were coming.

  
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**Cedar Ridge Lodge, Adirondack Park, T minus 3 days**

  
Running downhill in the dark was a game left for younger men; Jack decided. He pounded down the trail behind Teal'c, ungodly thankful he knew the path, knew where that oak leaned sideways, its roots exposed to trip the unwary, knew where there was a drop just after the greenish chunk of granite. It was still ugly, silent and scared.

About halfway down, Teal'c slowed: they'd caught up with the tail end of the team. Jack took the opportunity to breathe, leaning against the sticky bole of a pine tree. He was as fit as he'd ever been, but running scared was a lot different than just running. "O'Neill?" rumbled Teal'c in the darkness, and Jack waved a hand.

"I'm here, I'm good. Keep going." Jack pushed himself upright and jogged on, grateful for the slower pace and worried at the same time. Gliders weren't as fast as al-kesh, but they were faster than almost any human ship, and once they were in the air, they could cover the distance from Boston to the Adirondacks in less than a minute. Jack frowned; why weren't they seeing any gliders already?

But the sky above them was empty, no sound of screaming cannons, just the never-ending buzz of mosquitoes and crickets. Another minute brought them out into the clearing where Jacob had left his ship, a Tok'ra-modified scout vessel with a long range and no weapons to speak of. What it did have, though, was--barely--enough space to fit 38 people. If they were all skinny.

Jack squeezed through the hatch after Teal'c. "That everyone?" The airlock stank of nervous sweat: this was going to be _lots_ of fun.

"Yes, sir," said Jeff. "Thirty-eight, not counting General--"

"--more incoming!" shouted Jacob over the intercom, and everyone hunched. Jack felt something digging into his back and twisted his head around to see Peter holding a cardboard box full of those little rice-noodle packages Daniel used to keep in his desk drawer.

Everyone held their breath, except Jack, who was still panting from the hustle down the hill.

Nothing happened.

Some more nothing happened.

Eventually Jack straightened. "Uh, Jacob?"

"They missed us," said Jacob, sounding a little confused over the speakers. "Huh."

Okay, that was enough. Jack was tired of being a spectator. He shoved and squeezed his way through the crowd, Teal'c following him, until he found his way to the door to the bridge. "Everything's okay," he said reassuringly to the anxious faces around him, and pressed the panel.

The door swished open, he nearly fell through, and caught himself on the back of Jacob's chair. Teal'c followed him in and closed the door firmly behind them. It was close quarters in the bridge, but nothing like the rest of the ship.

"Getting a little ripe back there," Jack said, and dropped into the co-pilot's seat, ignoring Teal'c's eyebrow. Rank had its privileges. "You sure the A/C is up to this?"

Jacob was tapping at the sensor panel and brought up a small hologram depicting the region. "See, look," he said, ignoring the vital issue of olfactory hygiene. "They came from there," he waved at the east, where the mountains dropped to hills, and then to rolling country near the lakes. "But they went west of us, here." A red line showed the gliders' track. "According to my sensors, they're--" There was a little red burst on the hologram, and then another.

"They appear to be firing on something," said Teal'c.

Jack stared at the hologram. "But not us. Not Carter--"

"No," reassured Jacob. "Sam and Daniel went south, and besides, it'd be hard for them to be spotted from the air. They're not carrying any naquadah, and trucks aren't that unusual in the woods."

"So... they came after us, but they got the wrong address?"

"Guess so," said Jacob, and stared at the hologram for a minute longer. "They're at least twenty miles away."

"Good boy, Josh," said Jack.

"Indeed," said Teal'c. "I would not have expected such duplicity from him."

Jack blinked at the use of "duplicity" and Josh in the same thought, and then pushed it out of his mind. Whatever had happened, they couldn't stick around to find out. "So, Jacob. Can you get us out of here without being spotted?"

"Just give me the word."

"Go," said Jack, and wiggled his fingers in encouragement. "Go."

And they went.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, T minus 2 days**

  
"Say that again." Rah'nak ducked behind a pillar as the goddess sauntered through the vast lobby of the splendid Tau'ri building, her image reflected again and again in the mirrors on the walls. The goddess looked pleased, but Rah'nak's good mood had disappeared as quickly as it had come. Las Vegas was not going to be the site of his great triumph, after all.

Bekkan's voice was clipped, professional, but nervous nonetheless. "We lost them, my lord."

Serak, the First Prime, swept across the floor and into an elegant obeisance before the goddess. Kiralla gave him her hand as he straightened; Rah'nak let his eyes narrow in distaste. "How did you miss them? You had two sources of intelligence."

"They were--they did not provide much detail, my lord. The maps you gave us sent us west into the mountains, where we found a complex that looked likely. By the time we realized we were wrong, and backtracked to the actual building, the place was empty."

Kiralla smoothed a hand over Serak's broad shoulder; he gestured towards a doorway that apparently led to one of the Tau'ri risers. The goddess would, of course, be housed on the top level of this great glass pyramid.

"How do you know they were there at all, Bekkan?" It was possible this was merely an error. No one was perfect, except for the gods.

"The sensors picked up naquadah traces, my lord. But no people were there, although sensors indicated there might have been a small craft in the vicinity."

Rah'nak would have to tell the goddess something: she currently believed she was about to witness the long-deserved deaths of SG-1. "What did the prisoner say?"

"He was killed, my lord, trying to escape. We were unable to get any more information from him." Bekkan's voice was apologetic; not that it did any good.

There were too many slaves and Jaffa around for Rah'nak to do what he would like to do at the moment; throwing the communicator to the floor and stomping it to tiny fragments would not protect the goddess from the insurgent Tau'ri. "Comb the ruins for any evidence of their plans, Bekkan. And if you capture any other rebels, do attempt to keep them alive for questioning."

Rah'nak snapped off the communicator and went to tell the goddess the unhappy news.

It was, as he expected, an unpleasant interview. Circumstances, and his position, were not improved by the presence of Serak, smiling genially from the goddess' right side. They were in the goddess' private rooms, acres of gold and white carpet reigned over by the vast red throne in the center. Beyond the windows behind the throne, the dark city spread, buildings, homes, and highways sprawling for miles, and in the moonlit distance the uneven edges of the mountains. The Tau'ri girl curled at the goddess' feet, staring blankly at nothing, occasionally rubbing at the bracelets on her wrists.

"Shall I kill you?" asked the goddess, extending a languid hand glittering with the gold of a ribbon device.

Rah'nak dropped his eyes; he was already kneeling. "As the goddess wills," he said, keeping his voice steady. "My life and death are yours to command."

"Such weakness is an embarrassment to the goddess," said Serak. Rah'nak glanced upward to see Serak simpering with false concern. "Such failure, were it to become known to the goddess' guests, could interfere with her plans."

Kiralla raised an eyebrow. "You believe I could be embarrassed?"

Rah'nak bit his tongue and buried a smile. The presence of at least three other powerful gods--Dusari, Taram, and Nezer--was a complicating factor, but it never paid to underestimate the goddess' opinion of herself. She would not be convinced that she had anything to fear, or anything to lose: she was divine, after all.

Serak blinked, and shook his head hurriedly. "No, my mistress, I merely wished to avoid--"

A small dark hand, fingers tipped in gold, cut him off. "No matter. I cannot be embarrassed, and I am ever-forgiving. Rah'nak, it is your duty to find these rebels, and bring them to me, so they may be turned to the path of righteousness. Or killed," she added lightly, as if the one were no more important than the other. "Do so, and you shall regain my trust."

Rah'nak dropped his head to the floor and held it there for five long breaths before rising and backing carefully out of the divine presence. There was no need for the goddess to state the obvious corollary: _fail me, and you will die most shamefully_.

The Tau'ri girl watched him leave, dark eyes following him to the door. Dana, that was her name, Rah'nak reminded himself, and she was the one who had given him the maps. He strode down the hallway, nodding at guards stationed at every corner, and considered the possibility that he had been wrong.

Perhaps he was too willing to assign his failure to ordinary misfortune. Bekkan, after all, was a competent man. And competent men had been misled in the past by poor intelligence--or planted misinformation.

Rah'nak was going to have a conversation with Dana. Soon.

  
+=+=+

  
**Central Massachusetts, T minus 2 days**

  
At daylight they pulled over; Sam was bleary with fatigue and Daniel was half-asleep in the passenger seat. They hadn't meant to do this on no sleep; damn the Goa'uld for ruining their party, anyway.

Sam tucked the truck deep into the trees on an empty stretch of road north of Shelburne, and nudged Daniel. "It's your watch." She was asleep within moments, her dreams filled with gliders, staff blasts, and the dark branches of trees scratching along the truck windows.

When Daniel prodded her awake, she blinked for a moment in confusion, then sat up. He'd draped his jacket over her against the cold, but the sun was well up, the temperature rising in the truck even in the shade of the trees. "Time is it?" she asked, as he handed her a water bottle.

"About nine," he said, leaning in through the open driver's side door.

She took a long drink, and wiping her mouth, asked, "See anything?"

He shrugged. "Just a woman on a horse, about two hours ago. She didn't see us."

"Right." Sam nodded. Once, someone on horseback would have been unusual: but you saw it more and more often now, as gas got scarce. Fuel for horses was mostly free. Pretty soon people would start stealing the horses, if they hadn't already.

Daniel took the bottle back. "Do we have time for me to get some sleep?"

"I think so," she said. "It won't take us that long to get to Foxboro, I figure, and we can't go after the ship before dusk anyway."

"Great," he said, looking nearly as tired as she felt. Things weren't going to get any better, Sam suspected, and she kissed him lightly before sending him off to sleep in the back of the truck. All her training said that she wasn't supposed to do that sort of thing in the field, but then her training also said she wasn't supposed to let the Earth get conquered, or fall for her CO, and both those things had happened. Besides, her entire life was the field, now.

Sam couldn't sit down yet, she was afraid she'd fall back asleep. Instead she walked down the overgrown gravel path towards the main road, dodging briar bushes and poison ivy. The road was nothing much: two narrow lanes of asphalt, potholed where there'd been no maintenance for two winters, and a fading yellow stripe down the middle.

Across the way there was a shallow ditch backed by one of the low stone walls so common in New England. There were berry bushes along the wall; Sam glanced up and down the road before crossing over. Huckleberries, she thought, and early in the season for them, but it had been a warm spring. She picked quickly, gathering them into the front of her shirt, one knee braced on the wall.

Once upon a time she would have marveled at how farms and homesteads could be lost beneath dirt and vegetation, at the depth of history of the east coast, compared to the recent colonization of the west. Once, three hundred years seemed like a long time, before she learned how young humans really were, in the great scheme of things.

Sam took the berries back to the truck without squishing more than one or two, and decanted most of them into a plastic cup she found under the front seat. Putting the cup by Daniel's hand, she went out to sit on the hood of the truck in the sun. The hood was warm under her, but sticky with pine sap; Sam wiped her hands on her jeans with a grimace. It was going to be hot later.

Northeastern deciduous forest, this was. Second or third growth: pine, oak, birch and maple, with an understory of sassafras, briar, and sundry other shrubs. A jay scooted by, yelling at something. Sam waved a hand at the mayflies gathering under the brim of her cap. She let herself worry about Teal'c, Jack, and her father for a few minutes; then felt guilty about the kids on the strike team. She'd trained them and she liked them, but losing them wouldn't hurt, not like losing one of her own.

There wasn't much she could do about that, she decided, popping the sour-sweet berries into her mouth, one at a time. This was the world she had to live with, now. She would fix what she could, and hold on to what she loved. What else was there to do?

They were on the road again by noon, making good time down the backroads of central Massachusetts, heading vaguely southeast. Occasionally they dodged onto the highway for a few miles, but it was too exposed to use for long. The plan was to meet up with Casey and Marie along Route 1A in Walpole, just north of Foxboro. Sam was driving again, since Daniel tended to grind the clutch. Instead he lounged in the passenger seat, one foot propped on the dash, casually perusing a three-year-old copy of _People_. If it weren't for the P-90 on the floor, his T-shirt and sunglasses would make her think he was on vacation.

He was quiet for a while; Sam thought he was thinking about something. She didn't ask. There had always been things Daniel didn't talk about; this hadn't changed.

Somewhere past Pelham, he sat up and dropped the magazine to the floor. "So before we left, I kissed Jack."

Sam very nearly drove them off the road. "You did _what_?"

"Kissed Jack."

Sam stared at Daniel for a moment before yanking her attention back to the road: he looked very pleased with himself. "You're serious. What did he do?" There was a school bus abandoned in the road; Sam edged carefully around it before bringing the truck back up into third gear.

Daniel shrugged. "Well, he didn't go, 'Ah-ah!' and proclaim his undying heterosexuality." Daniel waved a finger in the air to demonstrate. "Which was a pleasant surprise."

"So..." said Sam. "Did he kiss you back?" There was a silence; she turned her head to see Daniel trying not to grin. "I don't believe it!"

"Suit yourself." Daniel slumped back into the passenger seat and settled his sunglasses more securely. "He kisses pretty well, actually."

Sam swallowed. She loved Daniel. But Jack had been her anchor, and she his, almost since the war began, when the rest of the team was gone. They had something she didn't even share with Daniel.

A mile went by, trees lush in the summer heat, a few farmers out mowing with machines or even by hand, some precious black-and-white dairy cows let out into the fields. Sam chewed her lip and tried not to think about Daniel knowing how well Jack kissed.

"Sam." Daniel pulled her right hand off the steering wheel and kissed the underside of her wrist. She let him curl her hand around his face, felt him breathing on her palm. "There isn't so much love in the world that we should keep it all to ourselves."

Sam gave up on driving: she couldn't concentrate. She slowed the truck into the tall grasses at the verge and set the brake. "What are you saying?"

Daniel took her hand back, and held it in his lap, tracing the tendons with his fingers. "I'm saying... I don't know. I'm saying I love you both, and you love us both. And isn't that a _good_ thing?"

Sam blushed; how obvious was she? But Daniel wasn't mocking her. She made herself think about what he was saying. "In the abstract, sure. But..." She trailed off. He was right, as far as it went, but the thought of _doing_ anything about it made her head hurt.

"I wanted him to know before he went. I wanted to give him something to think about, some reason to come back." Daniel's eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but Sam knew the look on his face.

Sam thought about love, and risk, and loneliness. She imagined how surprised Jack must have been, and started to smile. "Even if all he does is slap the back of your head and demand to know what the _hell_ you were thinking?"

"That's okay, too, so long as he comes back. Everything else is subject to negotiation."

  
+=+=+

  
**Manitou Springs, Colorado, T minus 2 days**

  
Jack had expected to be able to breathe better in Colorado, out from under the endless pine forests of the Northeast. But the fact was that the basement of the Church of the Holy Trinity smelled like a thousand pancake breakfasts had gone there to die. So he breathed shallowly, scratching his ear in lieu of drumming his fingers on the table.

The Reverend Nathaniel Curran was shorter than Jack, middling height with a soft midsection that had probably been a paunch before the war. His hair was greying but more neatly trimmed than Jack's, his button-down shirt unwrinkled. Right now he was conferring quietly with his second-in-command, a bloated old sergeant who hadn't, Jack suspected, fired a weapon in fifteen years. The sergeant grumbled something and Curran shrugged, flashing him a thousand-watt smile, something Jack was sure he'd perfected while growing his immense religious empire, complete with inspirational dvds and weekly radio broadcasts. The sergeant's scowl melted into something approaching worship. Jack rolled his eyes.

Jack's people and Curran's milled about the other end of the room, talking quietly. Cannon was nowhere to be seen: Jack suspected he'd started a craps game outside. If Curran found out, there'd be hell to pay. Not that Jack much cared.

"O'Neill," said Teal'c softly, and nodded at the wall, where the light of the sun was slowly sliding down the water-stained brick.

"Right," said Jack, and slapped his hand down on the table.

Curran jumped; Jacob smothered a smile.

"Here's the thing," said Jack, trying to keep a civil tone, something he hadn't had to do in about two years. "This is gonna happen. We've got a better chance with you; but either way it'll happen. And we don't have time to argue about it."

"Colonel O'Neill," said Curran, with a quelling look at his sergeant, whose face had darkened. "You have to appreciate my position. You're asking us to take a great--"

Jack cut him off. They'd been at this for hours. "No, I really don't." Curran wanted the glory of defeating Sindle, not without cause: the area around Colorado Springs had taken a lot of damage, and Curran had helped a lot of suffering people. But Curran wouldn't agree to the plan, and kept picking at Jack's logic, fishing for information none of them were about to provide. "What I have to do, is leave. Jacob?"

"Leave?" said Curran, leaning forward. "Where are you going?"

Teal'c stood up, and let his shadow fall across Curran's face. "Elsewhere. General Carter will lead the attack. I _suggest_ you comply with his plan. He is a man of great wisdom and experience."

"Just because you're military doesn't mean--" Curran started hotly.

"If you're in, you're in all the way, Curran," said Jack, and pushed himself back from the table. "Jacob will look after your people."

Jacob nodded. "Your people will be in secure positions until the final push: all they have to do is make enough noise to keep the Jaffa occupied."

"Yes, but." Curran looked from Jack to Jacob and back, frowning. Finally he sighed, and put his hands together on the table. "_Thou shalt have no other gods than me._ If it is God's will that we defeat these--these false gods--then we must take on some of the burden. We will do it." But he looked scared, and not a little resentful. Jack wondered if that had more to do with following Jacob's orders than with the plan itself.

"That's it, then," said Jack, and clapped Jacob on the shoulder. "Give us a ride?" When Jacob nodded, Jack leaned across the table to shake Curran's hand heartily. "Good to meet you, Reverend. T and I gotta run, now, but we'll see you soon. Good luck."

"Go with God's blessing," said Curran, and stood to watch them leave. As they headed for the door, Jack saw a small group of Curran's people gathered in the corner of the room, hands clasped and heads down. Garcia and Jeff were among them.

The sun was so bright when he came out the door that Jack had to pause to fish out his sunglasses. Graves was on duty at the door; she nodded as he stepped up and into the parking lot. "Any action out here?" he asked, scanning the area. Across the parking lot was a small shopping complex, most of the buildings with broken windows. There were trees beyond that, and houses, and looming to the west, mountains upon mountains. It was good to see them again, to be able to see the country, after so long in the East, where the land was hidden by all the damn trees.

"No, sir," Graves said, and stepped away from the doorway as Teal'c and Jacob exited.

Jacob was frowning; Jack shrugged. "Guess I pissed him off?"

Jacob all but rolled his eyes, and then sighed. "He'll get over it, but it's just as well you're on your way out of here. He doesn't like you much."

"Definitely mutual," said Jack, and started walking across the parking lot. Jacob paused to give Graves an order; she nodded nervously and went around the side of the building.

"Why do you so dislike Reverend Curran?" asked Teal'c, as they walked. "He is merely protecting his people."

"Nah, it's not that; it's the religious stuff." Jack twitched his shoulders. It had been a long time since he'd thought about the theological implications of the Goa'uld, but dealing with Curran had brought it all up to the surface again. Curran was like Kinsey, but worse--he really believed God was looking out for humans, despite all the evidence to the contrary. He wasn't just claiming it for political expediency, he truly _believed_. It made him useful, and made Jack feel dirty for using him. Curran's people were going to take a lot of damage during the attack, and Jack was trying not to feel bad about that.

Teal'c was still pursuing the religion issue. "Do you feel that the Goa'uld attack has shaken the beliefs of your people, O'Neill?"

"Their whole existence shakes our beliefs, Teal'c," said Jacob. It was a subject everyone had thought about, Jack knew, and hardly anyone was willing to talk about. "Whether the Goa'uld took on the forms of our pre-existing gods, or the Goa'uld _were_ our gods--that question may never be answered, but until it is, humans will never be comfortable with them."

"And maybe not even then," said Jack, stopping to wait while Jacob turned off the cloak on his ship. "They're still snakes." The ship shimmered into existence thirty feet ahead of them, a small scout mottled in green and grey, with little more to protect it than its speed and cloak. It was just about the only weapon they had, and it wasn't enough.

"I understand," said Teal'c. "This is about Jesus of Nazareth." He raised a large hand, waving for Jack to precede him into the airlock.

"Uh, huh," agreed Jacob, stashing his gun on the rack inside the door and heading for the bridge. "There's not much Jesus did in the Bible that couldn't have been done by a sufficiently-motivated Goa'uld."

"Or a Tok'ra," added Jack, as he took the co-pilot's seat. He wasn't really qualified to fly this ship, but it was more comfortable than the damned folding chairs in the church had been.

Jacob protested mildly, "Jack, a Tok'ra would never have--"

"Oh? Why not? Because Tok'ra don't do that sort of thing?" Jack grimaced; it was also, although he wouldn't say it to Jacob, too altruistic for most of the Tok'ra he'd met. They were pragmatic bastards, and had nothing to gain from starting a cult of brotherhood in a small subjugated colony of the Roman Empire.

"It would be contrary to everything we stand for," said Selmak, with a frown. The ship lifted off the ground smoothly, took one turn around the church--Jack saw Garcia wave--and then cloaked for the trip. It wouldn't be long now. "We do not impersonate gods."

"And the Tok'ra never have renegades?" Jack asked, just to be difficult. "We know a Goa'uld wouldn't have done it--why would he cure people, save lives, raise the dead?"

"Why would Seth?" countered Teal'c. "To build a power-base. Perhaps he was stranded, without access to any of his technology other than a healing device."

Jacob raised an eyebrow at Jack. "Teal'c's got a point there. Most of the Tok'ra were on the other side of the galaxy two thousand years ago, Jack, on the run after Egeria was lost. It took us years to re-establish ourselves." He glanced down and then back up, and it was Selmak again. "Jesus was more likely to be a Goa'uld, particularly since the advent of Christianity played a large part in the disruption of the next several hundred years. A lone Goa'uld could have manipulated his followers in order to sow dissension, perhaps in challenge to another Goa'uld in power."

The mountains passed under them swiftly, green, green-white with glaciers shining in the sun, more green. Jack sighed and shut his eyes. "And you wonder why we kept all this secret for so long? Jerry Falwell would have had a cow."

  
+=+=+

  
**Foxboro, Massachusetts, T minus 2 days**

  
"We've got a problem." Sam grimaced at her sticky palms and looked around for something to wipe the sap onto. Nothing but trees surrounded them, though, so she gave up and wiped her hands on her jeans. Pine trees were easy to climb, but so messy.

"What is it?" asked Daniel, plucking a pine needle out of her hair.

The four of them--Sam, Daniel, Marie, and Casey--were crouched in a copse of pines on the west side of Route 1, about half a mile south of the Foxboro Stadium complex. They'd left the trucks in the parking lot of an empty liquor store and walked the last mile, keeping in the shelter of the trees. This suburban area, less than twenty miles from downtown Boston, was doing better than Sam had expected: backyards and open space were cluttered with vegetable gardens, only a few homes had burned down, and there were even a few cars moving on the roads. The activity made the four of them less noticeable, but Sam worried about local authorities. They had paperwork, some of it even legitimately obtained, but not everyone respected Kiralla's travel passes, and strangers were automatically suspect.

Sam shook her head. "The al-kesh isn't there."

"What do you mean?" Marie demanded. She looked the most rested of all of them: she had managed to sleep most of the way from the lodge. Which didn't mean she looked good; there were dark lines bracketing her mouth that hadn't been there when Sam first met her, over a year ago. Her lips were chapped and her hair hung in her eyes; she tucked it behind her ear impatiently. "I thought you disabled it!"

"I did, sort of," said Sam. "I set it up so the drive would fail about two weeks ago, and they wouldn't be able to move it."

"Are you sure?" asked Daniel. "There are al-kesh there, right?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I could see the symbols on the lower hulls; the one we want isn't there. They must have moved it, maybe to work on it after the drive failed."

"Can't we use one of the ones here?" Casey asked.

It was a sensible question. "No," admitted Sam. "I programmed that one specifically to allow us to remote-activate the ring devices, and to set the auto-pilot. We can't get inside any of the others, not without being seen." There were only four al-kesh in the big field next to the stadium, where the race track used to be, but they were guarded by at least a dozen Jaffa.

"So what do we do?" asked Marie.

Daniel drummed a finger on his knee. "Find out where it went?" He lowered his brows and looked at Sam.

She considered, but there really wasn't another option. Jack and Teal'c were on their way to Vegas now, and Kiralla's summit would end in less than three days. There was no time to hang around and hope to get access to one of the al-kesh here.

"Right," she said. "Time to catch a Jaffa."

It was disturbingly easy to do; Sam wondered what Teal'c would have had to say about the lax attitude of this squadron. The one they caught, courtesy of a conveniently-timed shift change and a careful expedition into the stadium parking lot, was an older man with an ibis glyph on his forehead. Sam put him at about 120, an age not reached by many of his compatriots.

He was too big to move far in the daylight, so they dragged him only a little deeper into the woods and propped him against a tree. Daniel tied his hands while Sam watched him carefully, zat in hand, waiting for him to wake up.

They didn't have to wait long: Daniel finished with the knots just moments before the Jaffa began to stir. He twitched and mumbled, blinking his eyes open. Sam watched his pupils track uncertainly to her face, and then his eyes narrowed and his lips firmed.

"Knife," said Sam quietly, and Daniel drew it--a long ugly blade Jack had given him--and crouching next to the Jaffa, put it to his throat.

"You two," continued Sam, keeping her voice low, and not looking at Marie and Casey. "Twenty yards out, perimeter watch. Stay out of sight." There was a pause, and then a rustle as they went.

Sam sat cross-legged next to the Jaffa, her face barely inches from his, Daniel on the other side. The late afternoon sunlight didn't reach through the dense brush that surrounded them. The heat had not let up. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back, the skin behind her knees was sticky and uncomfortable. Mosquitoes whined around their heads. One landed on the Jaffa's arm and began to feed.

"You're going to tell us where the other al-kesh are," said Sam.

"Sure he is," confirmed Daniel earnestly. "Because you want to live, isn't that right?" He added something in Goa'uld that made the Jaffa jump, his eyes flashing to Daniel's face in astonishment.

"That's right," said Sam. "We know who you are. We know you're a second-rate soldier in the service of a third-rate Goa'uld, who isn't even a System Lord."

Rage flashed in the Jaffa's face, surprising Sam: it wasn't a particularly good insult, after all. But it was enough to get him speaking. "Heretic!" he cried. "You shall burn for your defiance!"

"Oh, please," replied Sam, assuming he was speaking rhetorically, as they hadn't heard anything about burnings. "Kiralla's no god; she's just a parasite with some ambition and no sense of perspective."

The Jaffa sputtered. "You lie! I have seen her with my own eyes, and she is glorious as the new-risen sun!"

Daniel rolled his eyes; Sam sighed. Figured they'd get one of the believers. It made sense, though: if every Jaffa were as skeptical as Teal'c, there wouldn't be any such thing as a System Lord. "Fine," she said. "She's a god. That's not the point. The point is that you need to tell us where the other al-kesh are."

He wrenched at his bonds, ignoring the knife. "I will not so betray my god!"

"Why not?" asked Daniel. "It's not like they're _hidden_. They're _al-kesh_, not hidden treasure."

Sam nodded, and allowed herself to fondle the zat, running her fingers over its slick surface. The Jaffa's eyes glazed: she suspected he hadn't been having much luck with the local girls. Or boys. "We'll find them eventually," she said, leaning close enough to the Jaffa to feel his breath panting against her face. "Wouldn't you rather be alive when we do?"

She saw pride and fear pass across his face, chased by indecision. And followed up by anger. She could just guess: _How dare the lowly Tau'ri challenge the power of the Goa'uld and their loyal Jaffa?_

"Come on," crooned Daniel, stroking the knife down the man's throat like a caress. "Tell us. No one will ever know how we found them." He switched into Goa'uld again, whispering promises, his voice sibilant in the bug-ridden dusk.

The more he spoke, the more scared the Jaffa became, sweat running down his face. Sam suspected Daniel was telling him about what they knew about symbiotes and the weaknesses of Jaffa physiology. More, really, than Sam knew herself: Senneth had left Daniel with an immense store of knowledge. Daniel asked again, finally, "Al-kesh retna ebet?" and the Jaffa answered, hesitantly.

"Where?" snapped Sam. Her legs were cramping up and she was tired of playing bad cop. Next time she'd make Daniel be the heavy.

Daniel shook his head. "Not sure. What does that mean, the green forum? Where is it?" He tapped the knife thoughtfully against his thumb, his eyes hooded.

"The--the big place, for the games," explained the Jaffa. "With the green wall."

"The green wall--" repeated Sam. "The green--oh!" Of course.

Daniel glanced at her. "You know what he means?"

"Uh-huh. The place where they play games, with the big green wall, D--" she swallowed his name. "Don't tell me you never saw a Red Sox game on tv?"

"Of course I--" He paused and blinked. "Oh, right. Fenway."

"Fenway," Sam confirmed, and pushed herself to her feet, biting back a groan. What she wouldn't give for a hot tub and a full-body massage. "Makes sense, it's one of the few places in the city with the room, and they can control access, just like out here."

Daniel nodded and got up, using the hand not holding the knife to brush the pine needles and dry leaves from his legs. Sam stepped away from the Jaffa, backing into the trees. Daniel followed, his pupils huge and dark in the dim light. "So," he said softly, and glanced back at their prisoner. "What now?"

Sam swallowed. If the al-kesh had been nearby they might have taken the risk, might have left the Jaffa unconscious somewhere while they stole the ship. It's what she would have done, once upon a time. But they had a good ten miles to go, and there was no telling how long it would take them to cover that distance. If he escaped, or were found, he could raise the alert long before they reached Fenway. And without the al-kesh there was no plan; without the al-kesh it was all for nothing.

Daniel was watching her face; he winced when she sighed. "We can't, he's--Sam," he hissed, leaning into her. "He's an unarmed prisoner, we can't!"

"Give me the knife," she whispered, and closed the zat.

Daniel shook his head. "You can't do this, Sam, I won't let you."

"Let me? We're under orders, Daniel, and this isn't a democracy. Do I need to tell you what happens if we don't achieve the mission objective?"

His lips firmed stubbornly, but he looked away before nodding. This was their one chance.

"Then _give me the knife._"

He clenched his jaw, and then dropped his head in resignation. The hilt of the knife, when she took it from his unresisting hand, was clammy with sweat.

Daniel didn't say a word to her all the way back to the trucks. Which was fine; Sam wasn't much in the mood to talk. When she stopped to vomit, though, crouched on the edge of a tiny kitchen garden, he stayed with her, waving Marie and Casey off. And when she finished retching up the huckleberries onto someone's lettuce patch, he gave her a hand up and the last few sips out of his water bottle.

He'd changed a lot; but then so had she. Sam wasn't sure which was worse.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, T minus 2 days**

  
There was little Rah'nak enjoyed less than attending strategy sessions of the mighty. It was not his place to speak, but he was expected by Kiralla to know all that was being planned. He shifted uncomfortably and wished he could lean against the wall behind him. He had not kel-no-reemed for more than a day; soon his concentration would begin to suffer. But there was nothing for it; absent more pressing business, he would be here for the duration of the talks.

"And give you authority over us for what reason?" Dusari's voice was calm; he was always calm, according to his First Prime. But his eyes flickered for a moment, just enough to let the other gods know his displeasure.

Kiralla stretched luxuriously, smoothing a dark hand over the honey-colored leather of her chaise. "Because it would be wise." She had rebraided her hair with red cords instead of gold, matched perfectly to the color of her silken robe. "Because I have the chaapa'ai, and more Jaffa than the rest of you."

"That is hardly sufficient to convince me," said Taram sourly. Her host was a very tall yellow-haired woman: strong, but unbeautiful. Rah'nak did not understand why a god would not choose to be beautiful. But Taram had always been one to walk a different path, even before she joined the coalition that took Earth. She had women Jaffa--if not many--and kept far more Goa'uld servants than the other gods did. "Besides," she went on, with a narrow smile, "You do not have the chaapa'ai; Sindle does."

It was a point unimportant to Kiralla; she waved it away without speaking.

Gantrez stirred in his seat and motioned to his lo'taur, a beautiful young man dressed in Tau'ri clothes; he stepped forward and poured a hot stream of dark fluid into the god's cup. Gantrez was a child of Lord Yu, Rah'nak had heard, and he had chosen his host from the same basic type as his sire: small bones, dark glossy hair, flat cheekbones. "You have not said," he remarked, after taking a sip of his drink, "what it is your plan entails. We have taken the planet, and soon we will have the population sufficiently cowed."

"Sufficiently cowed for what?" Kiralla lounged, but even from across the room, Rah'nak could see the tension in her. "We can barely control what we have. Atai has left Lagos and huddles in Capetown. Her Jaffa never leave the city. The Tau'ri mock her. This is not progress, oh my brothers and sisters."

Dusari cocked his head. "And you would resolve this how?"

Before Kiralla responded, one of the household slaves slipped in the door and approached Rah'nak. "My lord, there is a message for you. Stenkar and Bekkan have signaled that they have reports to make."

The gods ignored Rah'nak as he bowed and moved quietly toward the door. On the other side of the doorway, Serak frowned; Rah'nak made the battle-signal that meant "new intelligence" and the frown was replaced with a considering nod. Well enough; however it was not Serak's place to control Rah'nak's comings and goings. Serak was First Prime, but Rah'nak answered directly to Kiralla on matters of security. Rah'nak pushed down the resentment and took the long elevator ride down to the first floor, where the communications center had been established.

The reports were not good. Stenkar first: he was blunt and harried-looking, with a smear of blood on his armor. "Blessings on the goddess, Second-Captain. We need reinforcements, my lord."

"Reinforcements? Why?" Stenkar held the garrison in the city of New Orleans, which had been peaceful since almost the beginning of the occupation. Rah'nak had been pleased when he had visited, with the peaceful way the Tau'ri had adjusted to the Jaffa presence.

Stenkar shook his head. "The Tau'ri have taken up arms, my lord. They have struck several times in the last four hours, with bombs and weapons-fire both. I have lost many men."

"How many?" The garrison in New Orleans was not large, compared to that in Boston or Las Vegas: only a few hundred Jaffa and half as many gliders; but they had not needed more.

"One-third of my garrison is killed or injured, my lord. They drove a truck loaded with explosives into the gate at the airfield, as well: many of our gliders are badly damaged." Stenkar looked shamed. "I fear--my lord, I fear I cannot hold the city without more men."

"Shek kree, Jaffa!" snapped Rah'nak. "You will shame the goddess. I will make provisions for you. Hold to your honor. Now I must go; you will have support."

Where that support was going to come from, was another question. They were stretched thin as it was. He needed more men. Kedarc, who commanded the detachment in Los Angeles on the coast, had this morning reported uprisings in many areas of the city. Where were the Tau'ri obtaining all these weapons?

"Get me Bekkan," Rah'nak ordered, and bit back an unhappy sigh when the great globe shimmered to reveal Bekkan's face. Bekkan looked even worse than Stenkar: sweaty and bruised, with a line of dried blood crossing right through his tattoo.

"My lord," said Bekkan, with an urgent nod. "The city is in open revolt. The rebels from South Boston and Dorchester have infiltrated the peaceful quarters of the city, and my men are under attack on all sides. They have even attempted to bomb the glider field--"

"Did they succeed?" interrupted Rah'nak. They could not afford to lose any more gliders.

"No, my lord, but we have suffered many casualties. I have pulled men out of the guard posts and into the center of the city, but I fear we are in a poor position."

Rah'nak frowned. Bekkan was correct on that front: the State House was not a strategically good location, but they could not afford to lose it, either. He shook his head. "Hold downtown," he ordered after a moment. "The goddess cannot be shamed by our failures. Keep a man on the communications station: you will have new orders shortly."

"Yes, my lord," replied Bekkan. "On another matter, my lord--"

"Yes?"

Bekkan looked even more distressed, if that were possible. "The--the tank of, of, the tank, my lord, in the goddess' quarters. You know the one?"

Rah'nak frowned, perplexed. The tank full of the goddess' offspring? "Yes, what of it?"

A queasy look crossed Bekkan's face. "They're all dead, my lord."

"_All_ of them?" Let this not be so, Rah'nak thought, numbly. Her children, her offspring, necessary for her plan, for any hope they had to maintain control of this planet infested with Tau'ri--

Miserable, Bekkan nodded. "Yes, my lord. I don't know for how long; the only one who has been in there since you left is the old woman. She claims to know nothing, just weeps and tears her hair."

Rah'nak's mouth was dry. "Can you tell what killed them?"

"No, my lord, only that they are dead. The water--I don't know, the water smells strange."

The old woman, the slaves, the girl. Perhaps the goddess herself, for reasons of her own; Rah'nak dare not question Kiralla's purposes. "Test the water," he said finally. "Have the old woman drink it. If she refuses, kill her. If she does not, question the slaves. Who was there? Who has access to poison?"

"It will be done." Bekkan looked weary, with the weight of such an investigation on top of defending the city from the rebellious Tau'ri. Rah'nak had no time for sympathy.

"And one more thing," added Rah'nak, just before he cut the connection. "Evict the Tau'ri slaves. Anyone we didn't bring with us, strip them and dump them. If they start trouble, kill them."

Bekkan's eyes widened, but he bowed in assent before the screen went dark.

Rah'nak sighed, but waited until he was safely out of sight of any of the servants before he dropped his head into his hands and groaned. He didn't _have_ the men to support New Orleans and Boston, and he suspected that this was just the beginning.

But he did what he could, sending messages to the few reserves he had available, redirecting men and supplies from San Francisco, which was still quiet, to the east coast. He also began thinking about more immediately pressing issues, such as security here, in Las Vegas, where six gods were consulting. And the still-unresolved question of the lo'taur Dana.

That, at least, was something Rah'nak could address. Dana had not been in the great room with the gods, so she was likely in the goddess' own chambers. Rah'nak found her on her knees in the corner of the great bathroom, scrubbing at the tiles with a small brush.

"My lord!" she jumped up and bowed awkwardly. She had another change of clothes on, this one a dull yellow-gold tunic with an over vest of red. Her hair was disheveled, her hands red and raw with scrubbing.

Rah'nak frowned. "Why are you doing this? You are lo'taur: there are other slaves for this work."

Her eyes widened. "My lord, I--I didn't know. I thought I was responsible--" She stopped talking when he raised his hand.

"It is unimportant. There is something else I must ask you."

"Yes, my lord." She dropped her gaze to the floor. She was perfectly subservient; Rah'nak wondered if she hid anything else behind that mask of compliance. Something like--

"Did you clean the goddess' rooms in Boston, too?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes, my lord, of course." Her voice was very small.

"What did you clean them with?" Bekkan had not yet reported on his investigations, but surely cleaning supplies could be poisonous.

"My lord? I don't understand." Dana's head had hunched down between her shoulders; she peered up at him through a few loose strands of hair.

"What materials did you use? Did you use this?" He pointed to the yellow spray-bottle sitting on the counter next to the scrub brush she had been using.

She shook her head. "No, my lord. There wasn't any--I used bleach in the bathroom, and just dusted in my lady's quarters. I couldn't find a vacuum cleaner."

Bleach. It was common enough, both on Earth and elsewhere: a disinfectant and, in sufficient quantity, a poison. This girl was smart, she had been in the goddess' quarters, had seen the spawn. And there was the error with the maps, the way they had failed to capture SG-1. It was hard to believe a girl, not even half his size, could be so dangerous; but Rah'nak had learned to be less trusting since leaving Tenarath.

He reached out a hand and put it against her white cheek, gently. "If I ask you something, you will answer me, slave. Because," and here his hand dropped to her neck, tightening, his thumb pressing against her larynx--"because if you don't answer me truthfully, you will die. Do you understand?"

Her eyes went wide and glassy. She nodded, and when he dropped his hand away, she whispered, "Yes, my lord!"

"Good. Now, tell me," and he forced her against the wall, the gauntlet pressing into her soft flesh, but not yet hard enough to damage her, "about how you made the maps wrong."

"The maps?" Her face twisted with confusion her eyes pulling down, her mouth pursing. "I don't understand, my lord--what did I do wrong?" So innocent, she seemed.

"They failed," Rah'nak said, and leaned against her a little harder. "They were _wrong_." Letting the anger out, the frustration that had been building ever since Bekkan told him SG-1 had slipped away. Rah'nak was not going to fail his goddess, was not going to lose his place because a Tau'ri girl, a frail thing with glossy brown hair and large innocent eyes, had fooled him. "What did you do?" he growled, closing his fist around her throat.

Dana gasped for air, but before she could answer, there was a breath of scent against his face, just enough to warn him. But not enough warning to prevent the wrench of dislocation as Rah'nak was thrown across the bathroom to crash into the bidet. The world spun; he saw only blurs of gold and red. And then, as he struggled upright, his vision cleared, the blotches of color resolving into Kiralla, her eyes alight, one arm wrapped protectively around Dana.

"You will not touch her." The goddess' terrifying voice boomed and crashed against the tiled walls of the bathroom. "She is mine, do you understand?"

Dana shrank against the goddess, pale skin against dark, her hair tangling with Kiralla's dark braids: both of them dressed in red and gold. Complementing each other, the goddess only a little taller. Kiralla fondled the girl's breast absently as she glared at Rah'nak. "Do you understand, Jaffa?"

Rah'nak scrambled to his feet, staggered, and fell to his knees, and then prostrated himself fully, face down on the slick tile floor, still wet with disinfectant. He didn't look up, merely stared at the goddess' feet, ornamented with jewels and golden rings. "Glorious one, I beg pardon." There was no explaining to the goddess, not when she had made her choice.

He'd made an appalling error of judgment, accusing the girl the goddess had taken for herself. He was lucky to have survived: the goddess could have killed him; she had done so in the past, for lesser offenses. As it was, he would be fortunate to retain his position.

Damn the girl.

As the goddess raged at him, Rah'nak glanced sideways, briefly, and saw the girl's foot, dirty toes splayed, running up and down the goddess' calf. Pale freckled flesh and clear toenails, pressed against the dark and sultry brown of the goddess' divine skin. Rah'nak swallowed his frustration, and the bile of injustice, and kept his forehead on the floor.

  
+=+=+

  
**Twenty miles northeast of Las Vegas, T minus 2 days**

  
Summer in the Great Basin: _fucking_ hot. Jack couldn't just sit in the ship, and he kept trying to go outside and then would get blown back inside, because there was nothing out there except sand and wind and heat. Jacob had come as close as he felt comfortable to Las Vegas, and had tucked his little ship into the shade of a quarry twenty miles or so outside of the city, just off the interstate. The quarry wall, solid rock striped with drill scars, soared a hundred feet above the mottled hull of the ship.

Jack snarled and slapped his hat against his legs as he came inside. Teal'c stayed where he was, his face peaceful in the cool dimness of the pel'tak. Jacob poked at something on the control board and didn't look up. "You couldn't walk now even if we'd heard, Jack. Sit down and get some rest."

"I've had rest." But Jack leaned against the chair and took a long swallow of water from a bottle he'd filled before leaving the lodge. It felt like days; it wasn't even twenty-four hours yet.

The ship was in the shade, and Jacob had placed them so the screen faced south. Which would be nice, except there wasn't anything to see but desert and a few abandoned cars for a hundred miles. Jack wasn't looking forward to walking across that. But then, he wasn't planning to.

"It's only a couple of hundred miles from the lodge to Foxboro," he said after a few minutes. "We should have heard." Damnit. He'd insisted on taking this job so he wouldn't be the one sitting in the back, worrying. And here he was, worrying anyway, because Carter and Daniel hadn't checked in yet.

"O'Neill," said Teal'c, in that tone that on the surface sounded perfectly serene, but that maybe ten people knew actually meant, _Enough, already._ "Major Carter is armed, rested, and knows the location. Additionally, she has Daniel Jackson with her, and Marie and Casey. They will be cautious." He paused.

"And?" Jacob looked up curiously.

Jack shrugged, elaborately casual. "And we timed this thing to coincide with local unrest all over the country. Carter and Daniel could have gotten caught in it, depending on how far it spreads."

"Right." Jacob ran a hand over his face. "We can't--" He stopped, sighed, and started again. "This isn't happening without the al-kesh, so we can't do anything now anyway."

"I dunno," said Jack, staring out the window. "It'll be sunset soon. We could--"

"No."

When Jack turned around to stare at him, Teal'c merely raised an eyebrow. "I have no desire to be stranded here if Major Carter is unsuccessful. Nor will I allow you to put yourself at risk for no purpose, O'Neill."

"_Allow_ me? Like that's gonna happen." Jack shook his head, letting the frustration filter into his voice. He felt like a good rant was just what he needed.

But Jacob cut him off. "He's right, Jack. It's one thing to go out there if you know Sam's got the al-kesh ready. But why take the risk? We've still got time."

Jack slumped down into the co-pilot's chair with in reluctant agreement. "Not a lot, though," he said, and looked at his watch pointedly. It was twenty miles into the city, easily, and there was no guarantee they'd find a car that would run. In forty-eight hours Kiralla's guests would start to leave, and they would miss their only opportunity. Jack really didn't want to wait: this chance was never going to come again.

_Carter better get her ass in gear._ Which thought made Jack get up and go outside again, because the last thing he wanted to do in Jacob's presence was think about Carter's ass.

  
+=+=+

  
**Foxboro, Massachusetts, T minus 2 days**

  
"I don't think this is a good idea." Casey looked mutinous; on his broad, friendly face, the expression reminded Sam of that grumpy kid Mikey from the old cereal commercial. "I should go; I know Boston better than either of you."

It was well after dark and god only knew how long it was going to take to get into the city. They didn't have _time_ for this. Sam took a breath, preparing to lay down the law, but Marie beat her to it.

"It's Fenway, Casey, not some hole-in-the-wall in Somerville. Even the Jaffa can find Fenway." Marie pulled a water bottle out from behind the bench seat of the truck and took a long drink. Sam couldn't see her face too clearly, but she thought Marie rolled her eyes.

"Besides," Sam said, "it's not your decision. Daniel doesn't know where the stuff is, and nobody but me can program the al-kesh. Shut up, Daniel," she added, when he opened his mouth. "You don't know what I did, and even Senneth wouldn't have figured out in the time we have."

There was a dense pause; Marie handed the water bottle off to Casey, who drank half and gave it to Daniel. By the time it came around to Sam, it was mostly empty and the water was warm, but Sam wasn't about to complain. She finished it and tossed the empty back into the truck. "Are we set? Right. We'll see you in a couple of hours. I'll put it down in the clearing at the end of the road, and I'm keeping it cloaked, so don't drive into us if we beat you there."

There were no farewells, beyond a soft "Good luck," from Casey, to which Sam nodded as she started her truck. The sky to the northeast, above Boston, looked eerily yellow: smoke was piling into the sky ahead of them as they drove.

Daniel was quiet; when they crossed over 128, he only said, "No Pike?"

"Nah," said Sam. "Riverway's quieter."

And it was, but that didn't make it any easier. The Massachusetts Turnpike, even clotted as it was with abandoned or burned out cars, would have taken them downtown in a straight shot. Sam's route took them through lush old-money neighborhoods, where fences that had once confined hunt ponies were falling over, and past hospitals and the Arnold Arboretum, wending their way into the city through its unprotected underbelly. The columns of smoke ahead, lit from below by who-knows-what, grew taller as they drove. Sam considered turning off the headlights: having a working car could make them a target, but without the lights they'd travel even more slowly, and they saw only a few people on the streets.

Most of those they saw were moving quickly, ducking into the bushes and behind houses when the truck's headlights swept across them. At least two of them had guns. Daniel saw them too; he reached under the seat and pulled the P-90 into his lap. "Well," he said after they passed a pile of smoking rubble that might once have been a gracious family home across from Leverett Pond, "guess we got the timing right."

Sam grunted and swerved hard around something that she hoped wasn't a body in the street. "Where are the Jaffa, though?" she asked, after a moment. "Shouldn't they be patrolling this?"

"Dunno," said Daniel, peering down one of the side streets as they passed. "It's a big city, they can't be everywhere."

"Yeah, but..." Sam let the thought trail away. They had no intel, and they had no choice but to push on. Maybe they'd get lucky and they could avoid the worst of what looked like a full-scale insurrection. It would just figure that they'd get stuck in the middle of a fire they'd helped fuel; that was SG-1's luck, all right.

When they began to hear weapons fire in the distance, and were no more than half a mile from the baseball park, by Sam's estimation, they ditched the truck by a train station. Sam felt a little bad about abandoning it there; it had carried her and the colonel from West Virginia and all over the Northeast, saving their asses more than once. She hated to just leave it, sitting by the train station as if waiting for a commuter to get off the 5:12 from South Station and drive it home.

She shook it off, following Daniel up the sidewalk and between the darkened houses, towards the sound of gunfire. They carried only their backpacks, with a little food and water and a change of clothes, and their weapons. They only had the one P-90; Sam had a Beretta she'd picked up a while back, and a zat in her waistband. But a gun had more authority than a zat, even now that many people recognized the zats.

Sam missed the days when C4 and grenades were easily available. She was in the mood for a really big explosion. _Oh, wait,_ she thought. She grinned to herself, and kept walking. It was possible she'd been hanging around with Jack O'Neill for too long.

It wasn't quiet; the sound of weapons fire increased in volume as they moved, skirting through alleys, staying in the shadows as much as they could. These streets were empty. This was the Back Bay, once prime real estate, and thousands of people still lived here, but Sam suspected most of them had gone to ground. She could smell the unrest in the air with the smoke.

Daniel touched her arm and nodded across the street. As Sam turned to look, a curtain dropped across a dark window. Further down the block, a faint light flickered through the crack between a piece of plywood and the top of a window frame. There were people here, hiding. They weren't going to be any help.

They fetched up in an alley, hunched together, their feet slipping on the rotting garbage carpeting the ground. The gunfire had let up, was down to just a shot or a flurry of shots every few minutes, interspersed with an occasional staff blast--but it was very close. "Sounds like a siege," Sam whispered, worry gnawing at her stomach. If her memory was correct, the main entrance to the ballpark was right around the corner, and the boulevard in front of them was Brookline Avenue.

"That would really cap off the day," murmured Daniel in her ear. He squeezed her shoulder and dropped to his hands and knees. Sam winced at the thought of putting her hands in that muck as Daniel edged forward. The stench was bad enough, and got worse as Daniel disturbed some of the piled layers of garbage. Something was on fire out on the street; Sam saw Daniel's shadow leap into being on the wall as he crawled to the edge of the alley.

Keeping low, he cautiously poked his head out of the alley, peering down the street to the right. After about twenty seconds, during which there was another exchange of gunfire, he pulled back into shelter.

Sam raised an eyebrow that Daniel couldn't see. He swore softly and wiped his hands on the wall before leaning back against it with a sigh. "I hope you weren't expecting to get in and out quickly." At her unamused snort, he continued. "You were right, it's a siege. They've got a barricade set up at the head of the next cross street."

"They?"

"Locals, I guess. Looks like the Jaffa--I assume--are trapped in the park, but I couldn't see it from here. There's a lot of people out on the street--I saw at least 50, with a lot more weaponry than I expected. Someone's even got a staff weapon." Daniel flicked on his flashlight, keeping the beam low and pointing to the ground, as he sketched the situation for Sam in the muck, using bits of old sneakers and rusted tin cans as markers. "Barricade's here, we're here, looks like they're shooting that way."

"Shit," said Sam. "I mean, it's good they're fighting, but--"

"Inconvenient," agreed Daniel as he put away his flashlight. "Any other entrances to the park?"

Sam shook her head. "Maybe, but I bet they're all locked tight, especially if they're storing ships in there."

"So what do we do?"

"What _can_ we do?" said Sam with a shrug, and checked the magazine on the Beretta. "Let's go join the party."

  
+=+=+

  
**Forty miles northeast of Las Vegas, T minus 2 days**

  
"Not this one."

Jack was tired of bodies. The corpse in the Honda was curled on its side in the back seat, for all the world like a child sleeping away a long drive--except for the spatter of long-dried blood and brains on the upholstery and rear window. There was no way Jack was going in there, not even to retrieve the small handgun he could see tumbled to the floor in front of the rear seat.

There hadn't been quite as many bodies recently, for which Jack was thankful. That first year after the invasion had been bad; it was hard to go anywhere without finding the dead. Oddly enough (or not, if you thought about it), there weren't a lot of deaths caused by the invasion itself--well, other than the military, and those civilians unlucky enough to live close to bases hit from orbit. The military units that weren't wiped out preemptively in the first minutes, and that tried to strike back, were picked off easily first by energy beams from the ha'taks in orbit, and then by the waves of gliders. Jack wondered sometimes if the Prometheus had gotten off the ground, and if so, where her wreckage lay.

No, the greatest death toll was later, as the food supplies ran out, the water got dirty, and people fell ill. The trains, planes, and trucks--all the infinite links in the complex chain of systems that kept food and supplies moving--had stopped where they were. Nothing moved, city sewage and water systems broke down, power went out in the first days and in most places never came back on. People died, and died, and kept dying.

Jack was tired of it; tired of wondering why this guy had shot himself in a Honda, tired of the smell, tired of finding families and children, old and young, huddled together or left alone to rot in the open.

He moved on; there had to be at least _one_ car in this lot they could use. The truck stop had a number of abandoned cars, Jack wasn't sure why. He saw Teal'c on the other side of the lot, moving methodically among the vehicles, checking for unlocked doors and an electric ignition. Almost none of the cars would have gas, but--thankfully--that wasn't too much of a problem. There was oil pumping again in Texas and along the Gulf: gas could be had for a price, if you knew where to ask. It was raw, barely refined, and engines often choked on it: but it was gas.

The next car after the Honda was a BMW; Jack passed it up on general principles, but paused at the next one. It was a Karmann Ghia, the color uncertain under the waning moon, and it was unlocked. No key, but in this brave new world any revolutionary knew how to hotwire a car. "Hah!" he said, as the starter turned over. To his surprise, it started right up, coughing only once or twice. They were in luck.

Jack waved at Teal'c and tapped his radio. "Jacob, we've got one. Any news?"

"Not yet," said Jacob, and Jack heard the concern in his voice. "We'll have to wait."

"Right," said Jack, and clicked off. "Whattaya think?" he said as Teal'c approached, his face shadowed, shoulders outlined against the hills by the bright moon.

"It appears small," said Teal'c after a considered pause.

"Sorry, T, no Mustangs in the lot. Gonna have to settle for this little German baby." He slapped a hand on the car's dusty roof, but the smile was bitter in his mouth. It was easier to needle Teal'c about his thing about sports cars than it was to worry about Carter and Daniel, out there hotwiring an al-kesh. They were hours behind schedule.

He wasn't ever going to stop worrying about his team, was he?

  
+=+=+

  
**Boston, T minus 2 days**

  
They waited a few minutes, until there was a pause in the firing. Daniel peeked around the corner and waved Sam forward; she came around and broke into the open, running hard for the glow of the fire and the figures silhouetted against it. Past the bonfire was a great pile of wreckage: cars, maybe, and furniture. Sam saw a black leather couch tilted on its end at the edge of the firelight.

On the far side of this barricade Sam sensed more than saw the walls of the ballpark looming above them; somewhere at the base of that must be the entrance the Jaffa were defending. She made one last sprint and fetched up on the edge of the barricade, Daniel right behind her.

In the firelight the scene looked pretty chaotic; Sam suspected that in daylight it wouldn't be much more organized. There were about a dozen people perched on the top of the barricade, weapons pointing toward the ballpark, and several dozen more milling about in the area between the barricade and the tall brownstones across the street. Sam didn't see anyone who looked like they were in charge, and nobody seemed to notice her and Daniel, despite their sudden appearance.

"What do you think?" she murmured to him. "This doesn't look like-" She cut herself off. A tall young black man had just stepped into the firelight, carrying a shotgun. Several other young men clustered around him, their body language subordinate to his, looking where he looked, following his lead. It was a pattern she hadn't seen outside her own team since before the Goa'uld attack.

"Sam?" But Sam ignored Daniel, and ducked her way around an old man carrying a box full of nails.

"Rasul?" she said as she approached, stopping just outside the circle of followers. She could be wrong.

But she wasn't. "Yeah?" He turned around, with the air of someone whose day is constantly interrupted. "What is it now-" He stopped. "You."

Sam nodded. "Sam Carter. We met a couple of weeks ago. This is-" she hesitated, not sure how safe it was to reveal Daniel's name.

"David Johnson," he supplied, and nodded to Rasul. "Sam's mentioned you."

Rasul folded his arms. "Yeah, well. So. What do you want now?" There was a bandage on his left bicep, and the hair above his right ear looked scorched.

"Did you organize this?" asked Sam, gesturing at the crowd around them.

"Hell, no," he replied, with a disgusted look. "I don't give a damn about those boys," he waved at Fenway. "The power's all downtown, but Zeke's got family here, and these morons don't get it, they're all ready to rush the door and get themselves killed." The shortest of Rasul's followers shrugged and scratched his ear, other hand never leaving the handgun he wore stuffed into the front of his jeans. Sam hoped the safety was on.

Daniel nodded. "The barricade was a good move. Keeps the civilians mostly out of the line of fire."

The light from the bonfire flickered across Rasul's sweaty face as he shook his head. "Man, where you get that idea? Ain't no civilians here, not no more." In a sense, he was right, Sam thought: everyone around them had a weapon, even if most of them were no good for anything but hand-to-hand. You couldn't do much damage to a Jaffa with a kitchen knife, not before you were cut down with a staff blast. But this was what they'd wanted, after all. This was part of the plan: local risings timed to coincide with the assault on Kiralla's summit. The problem was, the rising was now in their way.

"You're right about that," Sam agreed, and lowered her voice. "I know you have your hands full right now, but we could use your help."

"Sam-" cautioned Daniel.

"We don't have a choice," she countered. "We need to get in there, and we can't just wait for this to get resolved."

Rasul frowned, and pulled them away from the crowd gathered around the fire. When Zeke tried to follow, Rasul waved him away, before turning back to Sam. "You crazy? Why you gotta get in there?" And then, as Sam fumbled for an explanation, he answered it himself. "Shit, you want one of them ships! Don't you?" Uneducated Rasul might have been: stupid he wasn't.

Sam, at a loss, shrugged uncomfortably. The colonel would have her head if she confirmed the plan to an outsider, but she didn't have any other plausible explanation. It wasn't like there was anything else valuable in the old ballpark.

"There is something we need in there," admitted Daniel, after a pause. "It's really important that we get in there, and soon."

"Really soon," added Sam, looking at her watch. It was well after midnight now, so Casey and Marie should be at the cache. She wasn't sure where the colonel would be: probably holed up somewhere in the desert, waiting for her signal.

Rasul stared at her for a long moment, and switched his gaze to Daniel. Daniel met his eyes calmly. "It's the truth. I can't tell you what we're going to do, but if we succeed, you'll be glad you helped us."

His mouth twisting sourly, Rasul replied, "If you don't killed on the way." He folded his arms across his dirty grey tank top and stared at Sam for a long moment. "What do I get?" he finally asked. "If we help you?"

"Get?" Sam just looked at him, and then met Daniel's eyes helplessly. It had been a _really_ long day.

"Aaah," said Daniel, scratching his nose. Just for a moment, Sam missed his glasses. "Gratitude's not going to cut it, I guess." At Rasul's narrow-eyed glare, he nodded rapidly. "Okay, um, how about a zat?"

The zat! Sam grabbed at his shoulder, but he shrugged her off. "What about it?" He pulled the zat out of his pocket, being careful to keep it out of sight of the crowd around them. "You know how they work?"

Rasul looked at the zat, glanced at the barricade above them, and seemed about to agree, but then shook his head. "Not enough. I know you guys got the goods. Share, or you can sit here with us the rest of the night."

The problem was, they _didn't_ have the goods. Sam chewed her lip while Daniel scrubbed at his head in frustration. They couldn't risk losing the P-90 or the Beretta, or either radio. And nothing else they had was of any--

Rasul had started to turn away; Sam touched his shoulder, and he paused. "We can flank them," she said.

"What?" He was impatient, and Sam could see at least two young men waiting to talk to him.

She had to sell him on this fast. "Get us in, without being seen, and we can split their forces. We'll hit them from behind."

Daniel caught what she meant right away. "How many trained soldiers do you have, Rasul? We can do what your people can't. And if we're lucky, we may be able to take out the entire squadron there. You won't lose any more civilians. All we need's a guide."

"Just find us a door, and keep them occupied long enough for us to get inside," said Sam. "We'll do the rest."

"Doesn't even have to be unlocked," offered Daniel. Sam sighed: she really missed her lock picks, lost over a year ago in one of their desperate retreats. But Daniel still had a few of the toys Senneth had brought along.

Eyes hooded, Rasul smoothed a long-fingered hand over the stock of his shotgun, and then nodded abruptly. "Right. Zeke!" he snapped, and the boy shot to his side, quivering with eagerness. He looked no more than fourteen.

_What have we made,_ Sam thought, and then reminded herself that the life Rasul and these boys had led may not have been all that different before the attack, anyway. Maybe. But maybe Rasul had been a librarian before, or a mechanic.

Rasul put a hand on Zeke's shoulder. "We're gonna hit the main door hard, all flash and bang. While we do that, you take these two down and around. Get 'em to the loading docks around the back. Make sure they get in, then you come back the long way. You got that?"

The boy nodded rapidly, eyes shining in the shadows. He smelled of sweat and smoke, and there were bloodstains on his oversized white t-shirt. "Now?"

"Yeah, now," answered Rasul. "Go do your thing," he said to Sam, and turned away, waving the rest of his boys to the top of the barricade.

"Guess that's it," said Sam. "Which way do we go?"

Zeke took them to the edge of the barricade, where they waited, leaning against precariously-piled office furniture and the burned out hulk of an old Toyota Tercel. They were there just long enough for their eyes to readjust to the darkness beyond the firelight, and then the shooting started again.

"C'mon," said Zeke, and dashed into the darkness.

Sam, caught off guard, snarled, "Shit!" and scrambled to her feet. Daniel followed as she tucked her head down and sprinted across the open ground, thankful for the dark green of her t-shirt and wishing she'd thought to wear a cap.

She found Zeke crouched behind a garbage truck that had slewed across the road before tipping over; the spilled garbage had morphed into a stinking mess that couldn't entirely be avoided. Daniel tripped on something and almost went down before Sam grabbed his shirt. She heard it rip as she heaved him upright and they both stumbled into shelter with Zeke.

"Thanks," said Daniel, and unlatched her hand from his arm.

"No problem," Sam replied, breathing a little unevenly. "You smell bad enough already." She couldn't see his face, but he snorted quietly.

"Where now?" Daniel asked Zeke.

"This way," said the boy, and pointed off to the left, down the street a ways. The firing continued behind them, but they still weren't out of sight of the entrance to the ballpark. If they were going to move, they had to go now, but Zeke hesitated. When he spoke again, the words came out quickly, so fast it took Sam a few seconds to decipher them. "You got any food?"

Sam blinked, and moved around until she could see Zeke's face a little more clearly. He didn't look anxious or scared, but he met her eyes for only a moment before looking off to the left, out into the street. His arms were scrawny where they protruded from his sleeves, and his face was thin. "Yeah," she said after a moment, and dug in the outside pocket of her backpack, where she kept her emergency supplies. The sound of the crinkling plastic brought Zeke's head whipping right around.

It was worth giving up her last Power Bar just to see the look on Zeke's face when she pressed it into his hand. But it was Daniel who sent him over the moon: Daniel who gave him a Milky Way. "Where'd you find that?" Sam hissed, as they followed the ecstatic boy across the street and down another hundred yards in the darkness.

"I have my sources," murmured Daniel, and then went quiet as they caught up with Zeke again, this time in the dubious shadow of a locked loading dock.

"This is it," muttered Zeke, throwing an anxious look back up the street. From here, they could just see the firelight reflected off the building at the end of the block. They couldn't see anyone, but the shooting was still going on, if slowing down somewhat.

Sam nodded and swung up onto the top of the dock. She gave the door a tentative yank, pulling upwards, but it was locked. "Daniel--" she started, but he was already there, something in his hand that glowed a pale blue.

He touched the item to the door lock and there was a spark, a crackling sputter, and a definite clunk. Sam bit her lip and pulled on the handle again; this time the door gave, rolling smoothly upward.

"Zeke!" Daniel hissed, and grabbed the boy's shirt before he disappeared. "Which way to the field?"

"Just keep going in," whispered Zeke, and slipped out of Daniel's grasp to disappear into the dark.

_Fantastic,_ thought Sam, and shrugged. "C'mon," she said. "We need to close this door."

They rolled it down cautiously, leaving it unlocked just in case they needed to make a fast retreat. Sam kept the Beretta in her hand and Daniel unslung the P-90 as they crept cautiously forward. Loading docks all look like loading docks, even on Goa'uld mother ships, Sam decided, and all of them were good spots for an ambush. But there wasn't anyone there, and they reached the door into the main section of the building without incident.

Concrete hallways stretched down in two directions, lightless and apparently empty. Sam risked using her flashlight for a moment; when there was no movement or any sound at all, she turned it on again and swung the beam across the walls. Garbage, empty soda cups crumpled on the floor, scraps of paper, a dusty pile of t-shirts sitting on a table in an alcove. On the solid concrete pillars spaced along the walls were large green letters: "Sections 41-43," said the pillar nearest to them, with an arrow pointing down a passageway to the left.

"Right," said Daniel softly, and slipped across the hall into the passageway. Sam followed him down the gradual sloping surface, and in a few moments realized there was a little light coming in from below. They came out at the top of a stairway in the open air; after a confused moment, Sam realized they were in the bleachers behind center field.

Or what would be center field, if there weren't two space ships taking up all the open room in front of her. Even in the darkness, the two al-kesh loomed over the merely human-sized space of the old ballpark. "Thank god," she said, and realized that she hadn't been sure it was here.

"Don't start doubting yourself now," said Daniel, and slapped her on the shoulder before trotting lightly downstairs, heading for the outfield. Sam smothered a laugh and followed him, trying simultaneously to fish the precious transmitter out of her pack, so they could get aboard.

However in the rush of finally reaching their goal, they had entirely forgotten that the ballpark was not, in fact, empty.

  
+=+=+

  
**Forty miles northeast of Las Vegas, T minus 2 days**

  
Jack popped the hood of the Karmann Ghia while Teal'c filled the gas tank. Well, "filled" was an optimistic term: they only had a six-gallon jug with them, but just two gallons would be enough to get them into the city, anyway. Jack planned to save the rest of it, on the chance they'd find a better ride.

The gas gurgled as it poured, the smell leaking out into the night. Jack wiped the dipstick on a corner of his shirt and thought about the likelihood that this was a one-way trip. Oil was a little low, but should be okay. Radiator could do with some water, though. Teal'c stopped pouring and carefully capped the jug, stowing it in the car.

Jack eyed Teal'c speculatively, then shook his head. If he tried to leave Teal'c behind, and he _didn't_ die, he'd never hear the end of it. And not just from Teal'c. Besides, Teal'c was bigger than him: in order to get away, he'd have to knock him out, and Jack wasn't willing to leave anyone on his team alone and undefended in strange territory. Smarter not to try it.

As Jack leaned over to pick up his water bottle, he spotted the legs behind him; but he turned too slowly, and the fist belonging to the same set of legs caught him right on the jaw. Jack went over backward, cracking his head against the front grill of the Karmann Ghia, lips still forming around his instinctive "Shit!" as the world fuzzed out to grey.

He came to with a pounding headache and the sense that not much time had passed. He was still on the ground, he could tell that much, and as he slitted his eyes open he could see several pairs of legs around him, including one huge pair of Doc Martins that had to be Teal'c's. There was a little more light now: dawn must be upon them.

"Just shoot him! He'll tell them we're here! Shoot him!" A young, high-pitched voice felt like daggers stabbing into Jack's head. Not to mention the content, which wasn't reassuring.

There was a rustle and the sound of a slap. "Shut up, Terry." That was a woman's voice, with a southern accent. "We need to know why he's here, who he is. Never seen one of them with a _gold_ brand before..."

_Oh, shit._ They were after Teal'c. How the hell could Jack have been so casual about security--but it was 3 am, and this truck stop was in the middle of nowhere. What were these guys _doing_ here, anyway?

Jack opened his eyes a little wider. He was lying partly on his side, right hand trapped beneath him. He flexed his left arm a little, moved his fingers, and felt no reassuring lump under his elbow: the handgun was gone. As was the zat Teal'c had been carrying, no doubt.

"I am not who you think I am," said Teal'c, and Jack could just picture the oh so sincere look on his face. "I am no threat to you."

Like that was gonna work. And it didn't: there was the sound of a blow, and Jack saw Teal'c's boots move as he staggered to keep upright. Fuckers. If only they hadn't taken the gun, Jack would have a pretty good chance against them--but he was on the ground, his head spinning, unarmed against at least five.

Which reminded him: Jacob was still out there. But to get Jacob, he needed--_shit._ The radio. Where was it? Had they taken it off him, along with the gun? He heard another blow, and a grunt from Teal'c, and didn't look, desperately thinking back: what did he do with the radio? He remembered talking to Jacob, and turning it off, and--and sticking it in the right-hand pocket of his jacket.

Right hand pocket. Okay. He didn't move, kept himself still, kept his eyelids down, just inched his hand, a centimeter at a time, pulling his wrist up without moving his upper arm, until he could feel the edge of the pocket. There it was.

"Wanna kill him! You saw, you saw that--C'mon, Fanny, you gotta--" Voices jabbered, shrill and angry. Jack ignored them, except for Teal'c.

"There is--" gasped Teal'c. "There is nothing to tell you. I do not serve the Goa'uld. We are merely passing through."

Jack hooked his thumb into the pocket, pulled down, slid two more fingers in. That was enough; he could curl them around it to the button. Please god let Jacob be smart. Jack twisted the volume down--he hoped--and then tapped the talk button twice. Morse code? Right. He gave it a couple of seconds and then went tap-tap-tap, hold, hold, hold, tap-tap-tap.

That was all he could do from here, Jack decided. It was time to even the odds a little bit. And maybe buy Teal'c some time until Jacob could come to the rescue. He opened his eyes cautiously, allowing his head to slump over so he could see past his knees. One, two, three--six pairs of boots, including Teal'c's. Five should never have taken them down: they wouldn't have, if they hadn't cold-cocked Jack. He was a little pissed off about that, actually.

Jack lay there for a moment, thinking about how much it would suck if his great plan to save the world was derailed by a bunch of Nevada rednecks who wouldn't know a Goa'uld if it turned up in a hot dog roll. It would serve these morons right if they didn't get saved, but it wouldn't be fair to Carter and Daniel, and all the rest of the people in Boston, New Orleans, and everywhere else. He let the anger build, thinking about all the waste--and after two years of this, Jack had a lot of anger to use.

So he rolled, and he coughed, and that was enough to distract them from Teal'c. A skinny kid with a length of pipe in his hands turned away from Teal'c, but the woman holding a gun didn't. Jack came up on his hands and knees, letting himself wobble a lot more than he needed to. "Hey, what's the big--"

That was enough distraction for Teal'c, whose hands were bound in front of him--idiots, thought Jack distantly, as he dove at the legs of the big guy standing over him--and in three seconds Teal'c had taken the pipe away from the kid, and knocked the gun out of the woman's hands.

Jack slugged the guy under him a few times, just to be sure--he was pretty convinced this was the guy who'd jumped him--and climbed to his feet. The woman, a small and polished blonde in a cream suede jacket, had backed away from Teal'c and had her hands in the air. Of the other two, one had already run away: Jack saw him disappear behind the gas station. The third was another woman, a thick-set black woman holding an aluminum baseball bat. She stood with her back to a shabby Volvo, looking angry. Jack's gun was on the ground about midway between Jack and the blonde.

"O'Neill," said Teal'c, without looking away from the kid, who cringed away from him. "Are you all right?"

Jack shrugged and ran a hand gingerly over his jaw line. "I'll be okay. Oatmeal for a while, though." He glared down at the big guy and resisted the urge to kick him. "You?"

Teal'c nodded. "I am mostly uninjured." He was being generous; they'd worked him over pretty well and his face was bruised, his lip bleeding. "I suggest we leave this place."

"Leave? No way! Besides, we found this tricked up ride. Not leaving without it." Jack patted the bumper of the Karmann Ghia.

"See, Fanny?" hissed the kid. "I told you they got gas! I told you!"

"Shut up," said the blonde wearily. "Just shut up already." She pursed her lips and then shrugged. "So, what happens now? You guys gonna kill us?"

"No," said Jack, and picked up the gun. That was lots better. He checked the magazine before leveling it at the blonde. "But I might be tempted to _wound_ you. Why the hell did you jump us?"

The black woman finally spoke, her eyes hot with indignation. "You're a--one of them! The snake-belly guys!"

"I am not!" Jack was never a Jaffa. Well, except for that once. But they fixed that.

"Well, _he_ is," pointed the kid out sourly, glaring at Teal'c. Whose wrists were still bound, Jack realized. The big guy had a knife on his belt: Jack yanked it out and in a moment Teal'c was free, and much more comfortable.

"I am a Jaffa," admitted Teal'c easily, rubbing his wrists. "It does not necessarily follow that I am your enemy, and indeed I am not."

"Is that what the gold thing means?" asked the blonde. Fanny, Jack guessed.

Teal'c shook his head. "No, that is a mark of my status when I--" He cut off and turned his head sharply, and then looked up.

Jack followed his gaze: there was a familiar shimmer in the air above them, so it was no surprise to him when a weary voice boomed out from the empty sky above. "Jack, for god's sake, would you turn your damn radio on?"

+=+=+

  
**Boston, T minus 1 day**

  
They trotted down the stairs toward the field, past the empty rows of seats, still littered with fallen plastic cups of long-evaporated beer and rat-nibbled nachos containers. Off to Sam's right was the landmark of Fenway, the great green wall behind left field; to their left the bleachers stretched, wrapping around center and right field. Near the very end of the first base line, the seating sections dipped close to the ground. They should be able to hop the railing there and get out into the field. Sam tapped Daniel on the shoulder and pointed.

But before he had a chance to respond, something moved, off to the right. Sam and Daniel both turned, to see a Jaffa step through the doorway of the next section over, staff in hand. They stared at each other for a stupefied moment, and then the Jaffa shouted, bringing down his staff.

At the same instant, Daniel raised the P-90. "Go!" he yelled at Sam, spraying bullets recklessly. Sam shoved the remote into her pocket and threw herself down the stairs. Shells rattled down behind her and sparks flew where Daniel's shots ricocheted off the concrete.

At the bottom of the stairs was a railing and then a long drop down to center field, but they were exposed and the place where the railing was lower was too far away. Sam reached the railing and didn't hesitate: she swung both legs over, started to panic, and then dropped, rolling awkwardly onto her back as she hit. She pulled out the Beretta as she stood.

"Shit!" From here, she couldn't see either Daniel or the Jaffa: they were blocked by the wall she'd just come down. She was exposed, but she couldn't see any Jaffa around her, so she ran backwards, run raised, waiting for the moment when she could take a shot. Her shoulders slammed into a solid surface at the same time she saw the flash of Daniel's weapon above the top of the wall. She'd found the al-kesh.

"Daniel!" Sam shouted, and began to shoot. It was dark in the park, and she was too far away from the four or five shadowy forms now on the landing, but at least one of them fell, and two others turned toward her.

The flash from the P-90 stopped abruptly. Sam braced herself against the side of the al-kesh and kept shooting, desperate to keep them down. Covering someone with a handgun wasn't nearly as effective as covering them with a P-90. "C'mon, Daniel--" Sam was going to have to change the magazine soon.

There he was--Daniel climbed over the railing and dangled by one hand, fumbling with the P-90 with the other. He let go and fell, but as he fell, a staff blast struck him from _behind_ Sam. When he hit the ground, he didn't move.

Sam gritted her teeth and raced the dozen or so yards to the wall, where Daniel lay crumbled on the ground. "Daniel!" She crouched over him and fired blindly into the darkness beyond the al-kesh.

Jaffa were behind them: they were surrounded. But they weren't doomed. Sam didn't even check to see how badly he was hurt, she just grabbed his arms and heaved. "Stand up, damn you!"

"Ow--"

Good enough. Sam threw a desperate glance at the al-kesh, looming above them. Should be close enough. The remote was in her pocket; she wrapped the hand holding the Beretta around Daniel's waist to keep him upright, and shoved the other into her pocket. Second button, press it twice, then the first one. The Jaffa who had shot Daniel came around the edge of the al-kesh just in time to see the rings drop down around them and transport them inside.

No one was in the ring room, thankfully. Sam lowered Daniel to the ground and leaned him against the wall. "Daniel! Daniel, you okay?" She patted his face and grimaced: her hand was red with blood where she'd held him up.

"God, that hurts--" groaned Daniel, but in a stronger voice than she expected. "Go, go," he waved a hand at her. "I'll just be right here. Go on..." He leaned his head back, his brow knotted in pain, but his eyes were clear. "I think it's just a graze, Sam. Go!"

She squeezed his hand hard, swapped her Beretta for the P-90, and slapped a hand down on the ring controls, locking them down, before running for the pel'tak. They'd paid their debt to Rasul, but Sam wanted to do a little something extra before the rendezvous with Marie and Casey. Boston had sheltered them, and she figured the city deserved a little something in return.

The al-kesh was sluggish and cranky, but Sam got it off the ground in less than a minute, paying no attention to the half-dozen Jaffa banging on the outside doors. Instead of taking it up into orbit, though, she brought it up into the pale light just before sunrise and swung it around until it hung over Lansdowne Street, nose down. The street below was empty but for the barricade and the bonfire, still burning: Rasul's people had all fled. The Jaffa clustered in and around the main ballpark entrance cheered, waving their staff weapons, as if she had come to rescue them.

Sam hesitated, finger on the firing button. But she had promised; and the people of Boston were more important than Jaffa who weren't likely to turn at this stage of the game. She fired three times, until nothing moved in the gateway. Scrap paper fluttered across the empty street.

Sam activated the cloak and coaxed the ship higher, turning away from Boston, heading towards her meeting place. It took only a few minutes to reach the reservoir, but a good ten minutes after that to locate their rendezvous spot, a clearing at the end of a meandering road on the east side of the reservoir. Sam double-checked the site to make sure neither Casey nor Marie were in view before setting the al-kesh down gingerly.

Then it was back to Daniel. She had a small med kit in her pack: Sam had it open before she was even on her knees next to him, scrabbling for bandages and ointment.

"We there?" Daniel had slid down until he was flat on the floor, and had managed to peel his t-shirt up a bit, exposing the raw and bleeding spot where the staff blast had marked him. He winced as Sam pulled the shirt up to see the rest. The wound covered an area about four inches by three just above his left hip: it was ugly, but it didn't look deep.

"Yeah, we're there. Be quiet, let me look at this."

He was luckier than he had any right to be, Sam thought, as the adrenaline drained from her system and she felt the fear rise. Turning away to dig the water bottle out of her pack, Sam stopped for a moment and shuddered. She forced herself to breathe, nails digging into the palms of her hands, and then turned back to give Daniel some water while she cleaned the wound.

It was over quickly: Sam had had more experience than she ever wanted in battlefield medicine, and there was little enough to be done for him anyway. When she was done, he refused to lie down, but insisted on accompanying her up to the pel'tak to wait for Marie and Casey. By the time they got there, he was walking without support, although he took the painkillers she gave him without complaint.

Sam slumped in the command chair, eyes drifting shut across the lovely view of dawn in the New England hills. They'd barely stopped moving since they left the lodge, with only that brief stop yesterday morning for a nap. Soon, she thought, and made herself get up so she wouldn't fall asleep. There was something she needed to check on the control panel anyway.

"I think that's them, Sam."

Daniel was right: Sam could see Marie clearly through the side window of the pickup truck as it pulled into the shade of the maples at the edge of the clearing. Sam waited until she was sure Marie was facing this direction and let the cloak fall for about three seconds. "Right. I'll go help load. You--" she pushed Daniel back into his seat "--stay here and watch the boards. It won't take long."

"Tyrant," he muttered, but leaned back in his seat. "You'll get yours," she heard as she trotted down the hall towards the ground-level hatch. She grinned and swung out into the daylight.

Outside, it was cooler than it had been in Boston, the sky clear and brilliant as the morning mist burned off. Marie waved at her from the back of the truck, where Casey already had the tailgate down. Three leaves on the maple tree overhead had gone gold already.

"Good to see you, Major," said Marie, wrestling a case onto the tailgate. "How'd it go?"

Sam shook her head and took the case from Marie, swinging it up onto her shoulder. She winced as it settled on one of her bruises. "Okay. Daniel got hit, but he's gonna be okay, it wasn't bad. You?"

Casey nodded, holding cartons stacked two-deep in his arms. "No trouble, but we forgot to pack an extra shovel. Took a while to get these out," he said, nodding at the cases of explosives in the back of the truck.

"This is what happens when you let a man pack," said Marie, with a sly grin at Casey. He shrugged cheerfully and headed for the cloaked al-kesh, its open hatch a mysterious doorway hanging in the middle of the meadow.

Sam nodded, her brain moving on to detonators and timers, and the way the al-kesh flew like a bloated sow. "We're only a little behind schedule, we should be able to make it up."

Daniel chatted with them over the ship's intercom as they carefully stacked the cases in the most forward of the lower compartments. If you didn't already know, you wouldn't think he was wounded, and when they were done Casey and Marie went up to the pel'tak to see him. Sam stayed where she was, hip leaning against the door frame of the compartment, thinking about impact sensitivity and shaped charges. Then she rubbed her eyes and headed upstairs.

It was almost time to hand the baton off to the colonel; Sam just had one more problem to solve, and then she could rest.

Daniel lounged at his ease in the pel'tak; while they'd been schlepping boxes of explosives, he'd managed to clean his face and change his t-shirt. Casey was standing at the control console, peering dubiously at the panel, while Marie had spread a map on the floor and was tracing routes with a dirty fingernail.

"Okay," said Sam as she came in. "Time for you guys to split."

"Are you sure?" asked Casey, his face concerned. "You might need some help, if Daniel is injured--"

Shaking her head, Sam waved Casey away from the console. "We need you more here, Casey. I need you two to coordinate with the locals. Marie, when you get out of here, head back into town. Stash the car by the river and see if you can connect with Rasul. We saw him at Fenway and I think he'll admit he owes us some favors. The city's going up in flames now, there's fighting all over. Do what you can to coordinate the groups, focus on forcing the Jaffa into downtown. It'll be easier to negotiate with them if they're all in one place."

Marie nodded and began folding up her map. "Where are you going to be?"

Sam looked away. "We'll coordinate with the colonel and my dad, but I'm not sure when we'll get back here. It's a long way and there's a lot to do. You've got the radio?" Casey nodded and tapped his pocket. "Good: pretty soon we should be able to use them openly. Try to set up a command center downtown somewhere: pull in the guys from Draper and MIT if you can find them."

Marie nodded again, her eyes wide. This was far more responsibility than she'd had to date, but Sam didn't have a lot of choice. Besides, she was pretty sure Marie could handle it: she was smart, sensible, and fast. And she had Casey to back her up if things got ugly. "We'll do our best, Major." She hesitated a moment before putting a hand out to Sam; Sam hugged her instead, to Marie's surprise.

They left then, their footsteps pattering down to the hatch. Sam watched them cross the meadow to the truck, Marie swatting Casey on the shoulder, Casey patting the hood of the truck before getting into the driver's seat. When they started it up, Sam closed the access hatch, hiding the al-kesh completely.

She turned away from the view screen to see Daniel watching her intently. "So what weren't you telling them?"

Figured: she was never very good at hiding things from anyone, particularly someone who'd known her as long as Daniel had. She pulled up the al-kesh's drive controls and starting poking through the menus again, looking for something she'd missed.

"Sam?"

"We've got a problem," she admitted. "Something I did, to disable this ship, or something they did, trying to fix it--they've fucked up the auto-pilot."

"Meaning...?" He waved a hand encouragingly.

"Meaning I may have to have to ride it in."

His face, already pale from the injury, went even paler. "You're not."

"Daniel, I don't--I don't know what else to do. I don't know if I can fix this."

His lips firmed, a frown forming between his eyebrows. "Have you tried?"

"I haven't had time yet. I just--if I can't, I want you off. There's no reason for us both--"

The Tok'ra transmitter went off. "Carter, are you there?"

Sam grabbed it from the console and thumbed the control. "We're here, sir."

"And?" O'Neill's voice was acerbic over the speaker.

"And we've got the al-kesh ready to go. We're at the cache at Quabbin, fully cloaked." Daniel raised an eyebrow at her meaningfully: she shook her head at him. "We ran into some trouble getting the al-kesh; they'd moved it to Fenway, but we're set now."

"You kids okay?" That was her father.

Sam smiled instinctively. "Well, Daniel got a little charred by a staff weapon, but he's okay, just pissy."

"Hey!" he protested, and then shrugged in resignation.

"What about you guys?" Sam asked. "Everything ready to go?"

"We got a car," said the colonel. "Teal'c's not too happy with it, but I kind of like it. Orange is the new black, you know."

Teal'c's voice rumbled over the speaker. "O'Neill is deceiving you. We did indeed encounter some trouble; a group of locals took offense to my presence."

"But we kicked their asses," interjected O'Neill. "Teal'c took down this really scary sixteen-year-old kid with a stick. Very impressive."

"And we connected with Curran's men in Colorado," said Jacob. "They're not happy, but I think they'll do."

There was a pause. "So," said Sam. "Guess we're ready to--"

Daniel interrupted her. "We've got a problem."

"Daniel, I'll figure it out--"

"What is it?" snapped the colonel, all levity gone from his voice. Sam closed her eyes in frustration.

"Sam says the auto-pilot on the al-kesh isn't working."

Yet another silence. "That's not good, Sam," said her father finally.

"I know. But I think I might be able to . . ."

"To what, Carter?" The colonel wasn't letting her off the hook. "You got a solve for this?"

"She's planning to kick me off the ship and ride the al-kesh in on your signal, Jack," said Daniel, his voice disgusted.

"I wasn't really--" Sam protested.

"Oh, no, you don't," the colonel said sharply. "This is a direct order, Carter: you are _not_ to sacrifice yourself for this. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," she said, glaring at Daniel. She wasn't _planning_ to die, but given the importance of the mission, she wouldn't have been unwilling to risk it. They'd put so much into this already, and too many people had already died.

Daniel pushed himself upright, with an awkward twist. "So we need another option." He shuffled over to the console and leaned on it, ignoring Sam's offered support.

"What, like jumping out halfway?" asked O'Neill.

"Oh!" said Sam. Daniel looked at her. She figured the others were staring at the transmitter with the same faintly baffled expression. "Jumping out," she said.

"Rings," said Daniel, Teal'c, and Jacob all together.

"Right," said Sam, loving the moment. "We get the ship into position, wait for the signal, and set it on the right trajectory from orbit. If I can get the navigation controls fine-tuned enough, we can ring out before it hits and we'll be fine."

"How _long_ before it hits?" asked Jacob.

"I'll have to look at the nav computer," said Sam. "Not long. It'll be pretty tight."

"Of course," pointed out Daniel, "the question becomes, where do we ring _to_?"

They went back and forth on that issue without resolution; the problem was that they didn't know where the ring platforms were, and absent special programming, rings tended to deposit travelers at the next closest set of rings. "On the good side," pointed out O'Neill, "most of the Goa'uld will be in Las Vegas, so you may get lucky and land somewhere unoccupied."

Finally they tabled the discussion: Sam would try to fix the auto-pilot and if that didn't work, she and Daniel would ring out. She absolutely refused to postpone at this point: they might never get another chance this good. To her surprise, Daniel backed her up, and her father left the decision to the colonel.

"Fine," O'Neill said, at length. "Keep your weapons ready, you two. Don't get yourselves killed."

"That goes for you, too, Jack," replied Daniel. "And Jacob and Teal'c. I'd really like to stop losing people." His voice was light, but Sam saw the worry on his face. She reached out and grasped his hand; he tightened his fingers around hers.

It was time to end the conference: they'd gone on long enough as it was, and although they were sure the encryption wasn't breakable, they weren't sure the Goa'uld couldn't detect the transmission itself. There was one thing left to do, though.

"Sir, before you go--" Sam spoke before she lost her nerve, clutching the Tok'ra transmitter far harder than it needed to be.

"Yeah?"

"Daniel mentioned a project he talked to you about, just before we all left the lodge." Daniel looked up, his eyes widening. Sam swallowed.

"A project?" O'Neill--_Jack_, Sam thought fiercely, for this he was _Jack_\--wasn't tracking.

The man couldn't possibly be this stupid. "Yeah, the one he talked to you about the other night. During the party." _When Daniel pinned you against the wall and kissed you, you moron._

"During the--" Jack's voice faltered. "Oh. That. He_told_you about that?"

Daniel was now grinning, his eyes glittering with evil amusement; Sam glared at him. "Yes, sir. In fact, I think, and Daniel agrees, that I could offer a lot to this project, and I want to be involved."

_I do?_ mouthed Daniel. Sam ignored him.

There was a very long pause. If not for the soft hiss of the channel, Sam would have feared the connection was cut. She wondered what Jack's face looked like now that he understood what she was asking, but there was no way she could have done this in person. So much of her focus was on the transmitter in her hand that the world swayed for a moment. A warm palm settled on her arm, stabilizing her, and then Daniel wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing reassuringly. She squeezed back.

Finally the transmitter sputtered again. "You're sure you're not over-committed on other projects, Carter?" Sam couldn't read anything into Jack's voice.

"_Over_-committed? No, sir. I think I can fit it in just fine." At her side, Daniel choked silently, and Sam freed her hand to bop him on the shoulder.

"Huh." Another long pause. "Well, it's your call. We'll talk about it when we all get back, but you know I always want you on my team." Sam might have imagined the minute pause between "you" and "on my team"; but she didn't think so.

Oh, god. This was really going to happen. "I really do, sir. Listen, um, okay, I'm gonna go work on the auto-pilot again, so--" Sam handed off the transmitter to Daniel and ran for the engine room before she embarrassed herself even more than she already had.

Daniel found her a few minutes later, sitting curled up against the wall in the hallway, her head in her hands. He lowered himself carefully to the smooth bronze floor and took one of her hands, twining their fingers together. "That was brave."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Sam muttered, and he shook her hand reprovingly.

"The worst is over now, you know. It'll be okay."

She turned her head and looked at him. He was so _calm_. She wanted to hit him. When had _Daniel_ obtained such reserves of zen? And why did this, of all things, upset her so much, when she could face down hordes of Jaffa without so much as a stomachache?

"I can't believe I did that. Why didn't you stop me?"

Eyebrows went up. "Why would I want to do that?" He leaned in and kissed her briefly, a swipe of his tongue reminding her that he was also a party to this new project. She wasn't alone. She had Daniel. And--assuming they all survived-she was going to have Jack.

Oh, god. She was going to have them both. Sam wasn't ever going to be alone again, was she?

Sam smiled helplessly and kissed him back.

When they stopped for breath, Daniel said, "Of course, if I'd known what you were going to do, I would have reminded you that both Teal'c and Jacob were in the room, and heard every word. When I signed off, Jacob was quizzing him about this mysterious new project--"

"Oh, god," said Sam, and buried her head in her hands.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, T minus 1 day**

  
Being in disgrace makes one invisible, Rah'nak learned. He stood at guard duty at the entrance to the pyramid, reduced to standing blankly in the sun, his armor raising blisters on his arms and shoulders, and watching Tau'ri slaves and petitioners enter and leave. It was better than dying, he decided; and there was a chance he could work his way back into the goddess' favor. He'd done it before, after all.

He was released from duty at noon by his former lieutenant Fellek, uncomfortable at the role reversal. Rah'nak didn't try to ease Fellek's unease, but merely nodded and retreated into the cool of the hotel. Officially, he was off-duty for the next eight hours, during which he should kel'no-reem and eat. But simple compliance with expectations was unlikely to achieve what he needed.

The vast hotel kitchens were manned by Tau'ri slaves, of course. They were not, precisely, bustling; three loitered near the door, smoking the cigarettes that were traded at far too high a value. Two straightened when Rah'nak came in the door; the third, a young dark-complected man, just stared at Rah'nak insolently. If he were still Second-Captain, he could have the youth punished; instead, he merely glared, and stalked off down the hall.

A door was ajar up ahead. Rah'nak looked at it, pondered, and entered, following the light and the sound of machinery down a flight of stairs and into the basement of the building. Most of this was storage and machinery: furnaces, pumps, generators keeping the enormous hotel cool in the oppressive desert sun. Inefficient technologies, compared to Goa'uld infrastructure, but sufficient for their purpose.

He followed the rhythmic hissing of machines a few dozen yards down the hall to a room he hadn't seen before. It wasn't large, compared to the scale of the hotel; the walls were spare and unornamented. But it was full of tables and counters, the air smelling unpleasantly of organic material, salts and chemicals. The lights were dim and greenish, giving the room and its contents an unsettling glow. On every horizontal surface was a rectangular glass tank, ranging from tanks small enough for Rah'nak to carry in his hands to vast tanks that would need a team of slaves and a cart to move. They were all occupied: the water was dark, but even in the green light Rah'nak could see the larva moving, back and forth along the glass, tangling with one another, mindlessly seeking a haven.

"My lord, can I be of assistance?" An aged slave, with the dark complexion and pale hair of Abynthia, hovered at Rah'nak's elbow. He wore one of the green Tau'ri coveralls, and great rubber gloves on his hands. "Has the goddess, blessed be her name, sent instructions?"

Word of his demotion had not reached _everyone_, Rah'nak noted. "No," he replied. "She merely wishes to be kept informed of ... her offspring's status. Are they all healthy?"

The old man bobbed uncertainly. "Indeed, my lord, for the most part. We lost a few some days ago when the generator failed, but none recently. They are thriving. The new diet has greatly assisted their growth rate."

Rah'nak blinked; he had wondered why, with such a wealth of larva, the goddess had not chosen to replace the symbiotes of some of her loyal Jaffa. Or even trade them for concessions from the other gods: it was commonly done. He stepped closer to the largest tank and peered into the glass.

The old man was right: these were not juveniles. Some of them looked larger than Rah'nak's own symbiote, which only had a year or so left to mature. The larva in the other tanks weren't as grown, and ranged from true infants to approximately midgrown.

"Very good," he said at length. "The goddess would like to ensure that they are prepared for the next step. You will see to it?"

"Oh, yes, my lord," babbled the slave, flushing with pride. "The first batch will be ready for implantation as soon as you like. I will only need a day's warning before the first of the Tau'ri are brought in." He hesitated, and then continued. "These Tau'ri, my lord--they do not understand the honor that will be given them, to become children of the gods. I have seen them, since coming to this place. They have no reverence."

This was unexpected. Rah'nak looked down at the slave, his mind churning. "All will be as the goddess intends it," he replied automatically. "The Tau'ri will come to understand, will glory in the beneficence of Kiralla."

"Yes, yes," the old slave agreed, backing off a step and looking down at the floor. It was quite a show of temerity, to criticize the goddess even so indirectly. "All will be well, all will be as she desires. Of course, of course." He waved his gloved hands uncertainty. "May, may I return to my duties, my lord?"

"Go about your business." Rah'nak watched as the slave puttered from tank to tank, taking samples of the water and occasionally using a small net to extract one of the larva and examine it. He sang softly as he did so, a tune Rah'nak associated with archaic rituals when he was a child, long ceremonial chants in the hot sun.

He was tired; it was time to kel'no-reem, and to plan. Rah'nak's quarters had been reassigned to an officer more deserving, so he walked wearily up the stairs to the third floor, where the bulk of Kiralla's Jaffa were sharing space with the guards of the visiting gods. The vast room, cluttered with meditation mats and neat piles of toiletries, was not a place for quiet contemplation, as Jaffa came in and out according to their various schedules. But it was all he had. Rah'nak settled himself on his mat, leaned his back against the wall, and sank into meditation.

He was disturbed some hours later by an anxious voice whispering in his ear. "My lord? Second-captain? My lord?"

Rah'nak's body felt somewhat restored, although the long-term deficit was beginning to be a problem. He opened his eyes to see yet another of the slaves crouched at his side. It was the slave who monitored the Tau'ri radio frequencies, he remembered finally. Teran, his name was. Rah'nak's mind felt dull, clogged with weariness. "Yes? What is it?"

The slave, almost a youth, was clad in Tau'ri wear: jeans and a green shirt with no sleeves, but he bore Kiralla's iris emblem on his bracelets. He looked nervously behind him at the quiet room. It must be the middle of a shift, Rah'nak determined; only a few Jaffa spotted the vast space, all of them apparently deep in kel'no-reem. "My lord, I've picked up a Tau'ri radio signal."

"You should report this to the First Prime, then," replied Rah'nak.

Teran winced, dark hair falling over his eyes. "My lord, I did, but--" He shrugged: Serak was uninterested.

Ah. "What is it?" Rah'nak asked. It had to be significant or the slave would not have risked second-guessing the First Prime to come to him. Significant, but not definitive.

Teran held up a Tau'ri toy, a hand-held music player with a set of wires dangling from it. Rah'nak took it cautiously. "What do I--"

"Like this, my lord." Teran cautiously fit one end of the wire into Rah'nak's ear, where the nubbin rested uncomfortably. "That should do." Then the slave put the other nubbin into his own ear, and touched a button on the toy.

There was a soft hiss, and then a man's voice. "--all over. O'Neill's people will take care of them. They'll back us up here, too. God sent them to save us."

A woman's voice replied, her accent slow and drawling but the tone cutting. "Like they saved us in the beginning? Bastards never warned us. I'll believe the military can save us when it's done, and not before."

"Have faith, Carla--"

"Names, you fool! Look, we're on too long. Save it for tom--our next contact. You got the schedule? Right, I'm gone."

"God be with you--"

The voices ended, and were followed only by silence. After a moment Rah'nak took the earphone out and handed it to Teran.

"Did--did I do right, my lord? Bringing this to you?" The slave grimaced fearfully, his hand tightening on the toy. The wire still dangled from his ear.

Rah'nak nodded. "Yes. Keep monitoring this channel, and any other where you think the volume of traffic has increased. Tell me if you hear any other names, of cities or persons. I will take this up with the First Prime, and warn the goddess myself."

Teran's face eased into a relieved smile. "Thank you, my lord, thank you." In moments he was gone, the toy clutched in his hand.

Of course, there was no question of bringing this to Serak; he'd had his chance to act on the information, and missed the opportunity. "O'Neill" meant SG-1 was still alive, as Rah'nak had feared. And they were moving, they were acting. He had to find out _what_, and control it. He would save the goddess, defeat SG-1 and reinstate himself.

If Serak were to fall from his position as a consequence of his own lack of foresight as well, that was simply an added benefit, and no less than the man deserved.

  
+=+=+

  
**Northeast of Las Vegas, T minus 1 day**

  
Jack would have preferred to travel by night, but there was no time for that. The a/c in the Karmann Ghia was crap, and they couldn't waste the gas anyway, so they rolled down the windows and stuck to the cracking vinyl seats and Jack tried to remember why he'd ever thought this was a good idea.

Teal'c navigated: they stayed off the interstate (too exposed) and swung far wide of Nellis Air Force Base. Jack couldn't help but think of the F15's crumbled into wreckage on the tarmac, the crews and personnel who lay unburied in the sun there. He was pretty damned certain nobody would have risked snaky wrath to take care of the Air Force dead.

So they stayed west, on the surface roads, trying _not_ to look like they were heading for the Strip, heading for Snake Central. Because nobody was that stupid. Not that there were a lot of people around to notice, anyway. Even the outer suburbs were strangely empty, compared with Boston and the mid-Atlantic. Granted, it was mid-day in June, but there should have been more people about. Instead it was empty street after empty street, only the occasional glimpse of someone on a porch or working in a death-dry yard.

Finally even Teal'c found it necessary to comment, at the same moment Jack figured it out. "O'Neill, where--"

"Water," said Jack.

"Ah." Teal'c nodded in understanding. "Hoover Dam?"

"Yeah." The loss of Hoover Dam, whoever was responsible for it, meant the loss of the majority of water available to support Las Vegas. It was always an absurd location for a city, anyway, dependent on the great western dams for its water and power: with that lifeline cut, people would leave. They had to. Jack wasn't sure how the holdouts were surviving: maybe they cut a deal with the snakes, maybe they traded for water, maybe they'd stocked up, or managed to store enough of winter's rain to get them through the summer.

"Wonder what Kiralla's doing for water, then," Jack mused, easing the car over a rough section of road. The car ran, but not well, and the transmission was hinky. He kind of wished Teal'c had held out for a Mustang after all.

Teal'c pondered the question. "Perhaps she has water brought in by cargo ship."

"Waste of power," muttered Jack, but then nobody had ever accused any of the Goa'uld of good environmental planning. "Probably don't even recycle their newspapers."

Teal'c glanced at him questioningly; Jack shrugged and kept driving. The closer in they got to the city, the worse conditions got. Lots more burned out houses here, a few cars that looked like they'd been fried by gliders, and once even a small group of coyotes, six or more of them, trotting down the main drag easy as pie. Jack tried to crack a joke about whatever happened in Las Vegas staying there, but it dried in his throat. This city was dead.

"Hey," Jack said suddenly. "Tattoo?"

He received a dark arch in response, but Teal'c nodded and pulled a pen out of his pocket. He waited until they hit a smooth patch of road, and then removed the cap and carefully began tracing over the gold glyph on his forehead.

Jack frowned, peered sideways, and cackled. "A Sharpie?"

"Indeed," said Teal'c, swooping the soft head of the pen over the gold, changing the emblem of a First Prime to just an ordinary black Jaffa tattoo. "It will stay for several days, and wears off quite slowly. A most convenient technology," he concluded, and stowed the pen.

"Sharpies and duct tape," Jack noted. "Keep the world turning."

They came into the city from the west; Jack was scouting a parking spot in the warehouses in the shadow of Interstate 15 when Teal'c spoke again. "O'Neill. When this is over and we have retaken the Stargate, there will be many Jaffa who will need to leave Earth and return to their own homes."

The undercarriage grated horribly over a set of railway tracks. Jack winced, but pulled the car into a secure spot shadowed by a rusting semi. No one was likely to notice it here. "Yeah, and?"

"I will be returning with them." Teal'c climbed out of the car and went around to the front, popping the hood to take out his armor. Not that it was really _his_ armor; Jack didn't really want to know where he'd gotten it.

"How long you gonna be gone? Cause we're going to have buckets of work to do; cleanup is going to take forever. God, there's gonna be _elections_," Jack said with some disgust.

Stripping off his t-shirt, Teal'c paused to look at Jack directly for a long moment. "I will not be returning." He finished undressing, his skin glossy in the glaring afternoon sun, and pulled the metal mesh tunic over his head. It settled around his shoulders, chiming softly.

"What do you mean, not?" Jack slipped his weapon into an ankle holster and slammed the car door. Now was not the time for life-altering decisions. Now was the time to sneak into the Luxor, plant the transmitter, and get the hell out of Dodge.

Teal'c led the way from the car, heading for the highway so they could cross from the empty industrial neighborhood to the Strip. Jack twitched uneasily: they would be completely exposed crossing the highway, but they didn't have any option. "I mean," said Teal'c, pausing to glance down the street before signaling Jack forward, "that Earth will no longer be a comfortable place for a Jaffa, even one who has supported the resistance to the Goa'uld."

Jack squinted uncomfortably; Teal'c wasn't wrong about that. "So we work it out! You're not going to let nasty looks on the street drive you away, are you?"

"O'Neill." Teal'c stopped in the shadow of an office building, the lush landscaping around it all dry and sere. He put a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder. "I have valued your friendship, and my time on Earth. I am honored by your trust. But I entered the service of the Tau'ri to free my own people."

Right, that. Jack knew that; it was just easier to forget it. "And we're not in much condition to help anyone right now."

"Indeed." Teal'c let his hand drop, and flexed the other around his staff weapon. "It is most greatly to be mourned, but my first loyalty has always been to the cause of Jaffa freedom. Additionally, the rebel Jaffa who survive this war may need guidance on their return to their homes--if they have homes. I could not abandon so many that I convinced to turn from their former allegiance."

Fuck. He was right, and Jack knew it, and Jack didn't like it at all. "No, I guess not." They were at the highway, just a couple of fences and a broad stretch of open ground between them and the monster hotels along the strip. The Luxor was in view, its sloping walls glittering. Jack wiped the sweat off his forehead and replaced his hat.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

They walked quietly for a while, conscious of the likelihood of being spotted, exposed as they were. "I should get in front of you," Jack said. "In case."

"A wise precaution," agreed Teal'c. Jack swerved around him and took the lead, trying to walk like a broken-down prisoner. Not a broken-down colonel who was about to lose twenty-five percent of his team. Again.

"So, what's your hurry?" Jack asked, leading the way across the center divide of the highway.

Dead grasses and weeds caught at his feet; seed-pods kicked into the still air and fell again to the dry ground. It all looked dead: not just along the highway, but everywhere. Jack had only been to Las Vegas twice before, but he remembered there had been greenery, lights, and profligate fountains. It was an impossible city, parked in the middle of the desert, coming most to life when every sane city had rolled up its sidewalks. Now there was almost nothing, just the hardiest desert scrub pushing its way through cracks in the asphalt. The desert was taking the city back.

"There's a lot of Jaffa out there," Jack went on, in the face of Teal'c's silence. "We're gonna need you to negotiate with them."

They were across the highway finally, and there was some shade up ahead, on the north side of one of the hotels. Jack needed to find a place to hole up and wait for Teal'c. Teal'c had wanted Jack to stay with the car while he snuck into the Luxor and planted the transmitter, but that was too far away: Jack wanted to be nearby in case the plan went pear-shaped.

Which it would; that was what Jack's plans _did_, after all.

Teal'c's armor jingled softly as they crossed a parking lot. "SG-1 has, separately and together, many years of experience dealing with Jaffa. I am not your only resource, although it honors me that you consider me so."

Jack stepped off the last bit of baking pavement and into the welcome shade of yet another one of Las Vegas' enormous hotels. Even the back side, away from the Strip, loomed like a ha'tak above him. They were about half a mile north of the Luxor and could probably expect to see Jaffa patrols soon. Jack looked around for a place to tuck himself away, while he kept up the argument,--more for appearance's sake than anything else.

"Yeah, well--it's not going to be the same. I'm gonna miss you. We'll all miss you. I'm too old for all this change: makes me cranky."

"And I, you," said Teal'c quietly, and nodded toward an alcove at the other side of the street. The door there looked like it might be open. "However," he went on, as his lips quirked in one of his dangerously subtle smiles, "I suspect that--" He stopped talking then, closing a hand over Jack's arm.

Now Jack heard it too: the sound of heavily-armored feet on pavement, the soft tink of armor clinking against weapons. He saw shadows first, in the crosswalk a hundred yards away, and then the first of the Jaffa came around the corner. There was no time to hide, nowhere they could go.

"Down!" hissed Teal'c.

Jack dropped to one knee, drew his gun, and handed it up to Teal'c. It disappeared into Teal'c's armor as the rest of the patrol appeared.

Jack stayed where he was, on his knees, as the patrol approached. "Kree!" snapped a short redhead, who looked like he was suffering from a terminal case of freckle. The half-dozen Jaffa dropped their weapons to the ready. Teal'c, wisely, didn't move, keeping his staff upright and unarmed.

The redhead asked something in Goa'uld; Teal'c answered with a magisterial bow. Jack caught Kiralla's name in there, and "Tau'ri", with a wave at himself. He tried to look meek: it wasn't hard, with the asphalt grinding into his knees and the sun beating down on him. He hadn't expected to be at Plan B so soon. If they were going to need a Plan C, they'd better come up with it fast.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, T minus 1 day**

  
Jack had always heard the Luxor described as, well, luxurious. Elegant, in that flashy over-the-top Hollywood way. That didn't describe his current circumstances. But then, even the most elegant places still needed storerooms and broom closets.

Strangely enough, Jack wasn't the only prisoner. Three other people were in the storeroom already; two women perched uncomfortably on boxes of feminine products and a young man with a wispy beard sitting on the floor next to a shelf full of linens.

The lights went out minutes after the door closed. "The hell?" Jack stood up, and the lights went on again.

The older woman looked at him wearily. "Motion sensors," she said. She had graying hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and the kind of skin you get after you've lost a lot of weight. "I'm Sherry," she went on. "This is Beth." The other woman, a wiry little thing without much of a chin but a mulish expression, nodded cautiously.

"John Carson," said Jack, and put his ear to the door. Chances were poor that Teal'c would draw guard duty down here anytime soon. Jack was very conscious of the fact that _he_ had the transmitter. Shoulda given it to the man less likely to be searched, although thanks to Jacob, the transmitter looked like nothing more than a stray rivet on the pocket of his jeans, and emitted no signal until it was activated.

There were no voices outside. Jack tried the latch: locked, naturally. "There's a guard," said the kid. "They shot Pete last week."

"Yeah?" The roof wasn't one of the standard dropped ceilings, more's the pity. The vent on the far wall looked too small, although maybe the shelving could be useful. The room smelled of stale urine; there was a covered bucket in the corner that Jack suspected was the source.

The kid nodded. "He tried to jump the guy who brought dinner. So now they only feed us once a day," he added with a pointed look at Jack. As if it were all Jack's fault.

"Right," said Jack, and leaned against the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. The mop might be useful. The transmitter was pinned inside his rear pocket, easily in reach. It would be so easy. But not yet: not unless he had to. "So, why are we prisoners?"

The kid shrugged. Sherry shook her head while Beth picked at her dirty nails. "We've been here for a long time," said Sherry. "They never said why."

"They put other people to work," said Beth, speaking for the first time. "I've seen them. They aren't soldiers, they're just people. Couple times they brought the food."

Jack frowned. "Snakes don't--" He stopped; no need to broadcast his experience.

"Don't what?" asked Sherry. She hadn't blinked at the term, which was odd. Not that many people knew enough to call the Goa'uld snakes, unless they were in the resistance. Most folks just called them "the aliens", and made no typological distinction between Jaffa and Goa'uld.

Jack looked more closely at Sherry: just some ordinary suburban matron, used to a life of PTA meetings and soccer carpools. Maybe. But Marie was just a grad student in computers, before; and Peter had been an auto mechanic. That very ordinariness, that investment in how life used to be, made them dangerous. Sherry met Jack's eyes blankly, giving away nothing.

"Don't what?" she repeated.

"Don't waste resources," Jack finally answered. "If they could use us for labor, and don't, it's for a reason. They're afraid we'll escape, or sabotage them, or they want us for something else. Where are you from?"

"Reno," said Beth. Sherry nodded.

The kid shrugged again. "LA."

"I'm from Minnesota, myself," said Jack. "Got myself picked up by that guy--stupid. Let my guard down."

"What were you doing?" The kid looked dubious, as if doubtful anyone of Jack's advanced age would be of any interest to the Jaffa.

Jack strolled across the small room. He'd already noticed the mop. There were cases stacked on the shelves, but they were mostly toilet paper. Valuable, but not as a weapon. "Useful," he said, with a glance at the bucket in the corner.

Beth grimaced. "All the comforts of home."

"Wasn't doing much," said Jack to the kid. "Just--"

He never did have to tell the rest of the story he was making up, about how this big black Jaffa appeared out of nowhere while he was hotwiring a bulldozer at an abandoned construction site. Because the door opened and two Jaffa stepped in, zats armed.

The prisoners were escorted up three flights of stairs, down a hallway with carpet so thick no one's footsteps could be heard, and into a function room. It was one of those fungible rooms one found in hotels, although decorated more lavishly than most, with Egyptian-themed stencils around the walls, and a carpet design of hundreds of interlocking lilies.

It was, apparently, some sort of ceremony they were called to attend. Jack hoped he wasn't going to be the centerpiece. Half a dozen comfortable chairs had been arranged on a riser at the front of the room, each occupied by a man or woman dressed in glittery, revealing clothes. Jack couldn't help the sneer: it was instinctive after so many years of Goa'uld tackiness and bluster.

The four prisoners were urged up the center aisle, between a small crowd made up evenly of Jaffa in armor and slaves marked by the gilded bracelets they wore. There were maybe one hundred people in the room; Jack wondered how many Jaffa were still on duty. And how many of the slaves were from Earth, versus imported. It hadn't surprised him to learn, a year or so back, that most of the snakes had brought their entire households with them, hairdressers, gardeners, and all. It was a snaky thing to do.

At the center of the dais was Kiralla, Jack figured. She'd changed hosts, then; this one was a lovely young black woman, with braids, glittering with gold, dangling to her waist. Her dress gaped enticingly at her cleavage and her crotch.

The prisoners were required to kneel in front of the dais, of course. Jack wanted to yawn: even terror got old after a while. Although really, it _was_ a problem: if he were killed, how was Teal'c to set off the transmitter? Speaking of Teal'c, where was he? Jack tried to peer around the room, but the Jaffa nearest him, the same bad-tempered redhead who'd led the patrol, growled and prodded him with his staff weapon. If Teal'c was here, he was hiding out in back.

The snakes on the dais were the usual assortment: a short Asian male, a tall blonde woman, a dark-skinned man with red hair. Jack supposed it could be dyed. They lounged; the Jaffa stood at attention; the slaves in the audience rustled uneasily. The Jaffa who had led Jack and the other three to the dais bowed formally, and spoke in Goa'uld.

Kiralla lifted a languid hand. From a side door entered an old man in a stained green tunic, his bare feet horny, the nails long and claw-like. He towed behind him, on a waiter's trolley, what looked like a forty-gallon aquarium. The water in it, though, was black.

Jack's back stiffened and his skin went cold. Sherry glanced at him curiously as he hissed, but he said nothing. There was no point; telling them would help no one. Why scare them now? Beth looked nervous; the nameless kid stared at the floor. The tank rolled closer, and the audience shifted restlessly as it approached.

The slave towing the tank slowed to a halt directly in front of the dais, between Jack and Kiralla, and then bowed and retreated, leaving the tank where it was, in the center of the action. Behind the dais were some curtains, but one of them was hung irregularly, and Jack could look through the gap and out the window. Not out the window, actually, because it was night, now; all he saw was the backs of the Goa'uld on the dais, and a few blurry faces of the people in the audience.

Kiralla stood up, her eyes glowing, and spoke at length to the crowd. At the end of a particularly enthusiastic sentence, the Asian Goa'uld raised an eyebrow, and the blonde shifted, glancing at the others. _Huh._ Whatever she was doing, Kiralla was even surprising her fellow snakes. This wasn't necessarily a good thing, although Jack liked to be optimistic. He just wished he knew what she was saying.

Of course, when she came down off the dais and put a hand on the tank, Jack decided he really didn't need the exact translation.

After a few more paragraphs of increasingly ornate rhetoric, Kiralla switched to English. "This is how I shall make my empire, through my children. I am the great mother, the queen, greater than A'a, greater than the bitch goddess Egeria, greater than Hathor! My children will fill this world, we shall go forth to conquer--not just one world, not just a system here and there! I and mine shall be great, and my name shall be known unto the end of time!"

The slaves and the Jaffa didn't say anything, but from the corner of his eyes, Jack saw more than one baffled glance among the Jaffa. Kiralla ignored them: Goa'uld were usually pretty oblivious to the PR value of their pronouncements. Instead she stuck one hand into the roiling dark water and pulled out a disturbingly-large symbiote. Beth gave a little shriek of horror, Sherry gasped, and Jack shuddered. He was glad he hadn't told them anything about the Goa'uld; it was better not to know, if it had to happen.

Kiralla, of course, was still ranting. Yada yada, Queen of the Universe, all shall worship me and despair. The symbiote wriggled in her hand, her dark fingers flexing around it as it struggled--mindlessly, you would think--against its captivity. But its head was pointed towards the prisoners on their knees, its barbs oriented just one direction. It wanted a host, and it knew they were there.

Bile surged in Jack's throat. The scar on the back of his neck itched. He looked down at the ground and pulled futilely at his bonds, twisting his wrists against the tough cord. There were Jaffa all around: he wasn't going to get away if Kiralla picked him. But, he realized, he could still reach the transmitter where it was pinned just inside his rear pocket. If they did this, if they snaked him, he could send the signal before the snake took control. And once it was set there was no way to turn it off. That might be enough for Carter, maybe. If she'd fixed the autopilot. Snakes sometimes took a while to take complete control; they wouldn't know the plan in time to escape.

Maybe. If. He thought furiously, planning ways to salvage the situation, because if he didn't, he'd piss himself. He wasn't going to take a snake in the head, he wasn't. Teal'c would have to kill him. Jack was pretty sure Teal'c would be willing to, if it came to that. If Teal'c was even here. Fuck, this was bad: Jack had had plans go sour before, but not quite this royally.

The snake was still writhing, snapping its barbs in frustration, and Kiralla was _still_ talking. "This is the beginning, and you are all witness to this moment! Before this day, the Goa'uld were as nothing; children playing with toys. But with this, my beautiful offspring,"--she ran a finger down the symbiote's skin in a caress that freaked Jack out more than anything he'd ever seen a Goa'uld do--"our new history begins! The rise of the House of Kiralla!"

She twirled, her gold-slashed crimson robe floating out around her, holding the symbiote in the air like the Stanley Cup at the end of the finals. She was one of the most beautiful women Jack had ever seen: her face perfect, her curving body the stuff of top-shelf magazines. She made him want to vomit everything he'd eaten for the last month.

"Rejoice!" she ordered the audience. After a hesitant pause, the Jaffa and the slaves put up a ragged cheer--and while the cheering echoed off the ornately-patterned walls, Kiralla stepped forward and put the symbiote to Sherry's face.

It was over quickly: the symbiote entered through her mouth even as Sherry lurched backward, trying to get away from it. In less than a second the snake was out of sight, the only evidence of its entry the blood that burst from Sherry's open mouth. Beth screamed, the kid retched, and Sherry's eyes bugged before she collapsed to the floor. Jack sagged a little in guilty relief. He'd liked Sherry, damnit.

The slaves in the audience stirred, but the Jaffa didn't move. "Help her!" snapped Kiralla, crouching next to Sherry protectively. "This is my child! Take her away, care for her, bathe and dress her as befits the daughter of a god!"

An olive-skinned Jaffa, skinnier than some, stepped forward and bowed. "It shall be done, my lady." He waved at two of the closest slaves, and they approached with lagging feet. "And the other prisoners, glorious mistress?"

Crouched next to Sherry, Kiralla shrugged. Jack watched in some astonishment as Kiralla caressed Sherry's face, ignoring the blood smeared across the woman's chin and neck. "Put them away," she said, without looking around, and hovered nearby as the slaves lifted Sherry carefully and headed for the door.

Jaffa closed around Jack, the kid, and a weeping Beth; as they were hustled out of the room, Jack looked back, to see Kiralla staring after Sherry with a lost look on her face. "Freaky" wasn't a strong enough word for the bowel-loosening terror of a Goa'uld who wanted thousands and thousands of babies. Hathor had had nothing on this one.

As they turned the corner of the stairwell down to the basement, a staff weapon poked Jack in the back. Jack bit back a reflexive "Watch it, asshole," and glanced back--to realize that the Jaffa prodding him along was Teal'c. At least _something_ was going right. Jack turned back around to the front and thumped resentfully down the stairs with Beth and the kid. But as he went, he tapped his pocket and flashed the battle-signal for "go." He figured the order was clear enough: Teal'c was to leave him here so Jack could set off the transmitter.

They were hustled back into the close quarters of the store room, and the Jaffa locked them in. But as the door closed on the prisoners, Jack saw Teal'c's face in the rear, behind three other Jaffa. Teal'c, very slowly, shook his head.

Bastard never was good at obeying orders he disagreed with. Well. It was only Thursday night, and Jack wasn't ready to die just yet, anyway.

  
+=+=+

  
**Quabbin Reservoir, T minus 1 day**

  
"Crap."

"No luck?" Daniel's voice was cautiously sympathetic.

Sam slapped the top of the navigation console in frustration and turned around. She'd made no progress in two solid hours of fighting with the system, and now she was basically out of ideas. Whatever was wrong, it wasn't something she could identify, much less repair.

She opened her mouth to explain, and then just shook her head.

"Okay, then," said Daniel. "We'll get it lined up and ring out. Don't argue it, Sam," he went on as she started to interrupt him. "You haven't slept for almost thirty-six hours. Just how much good do you think you'll be able to do?"

"It's too dangerous, Daniel! We could end up almost anywhere--"

Daniel's voice sharpened into anger. "And what if the signal comes in while the navigation system is disassembled? You willing to take that chance?" _Are you willing to blow the mission because you're too afraid of getting me killed?_

"I could put it back--" Sam started, less vehemently.

"Maybe," said Daniel, still angry, but quieter. "But you're beyond exhausted, and if you keep beating yourself against this, you won't be any good to them no matter _what_ we end up doing. You need to get some sleep, Sam."

"So do you," she snapped back. He wasn't as grey as he'd been, but he wasn't moving much, preferring to stay on the floor while she worked. Spots marked his grey t-shirt where he'd bled through the bandages.

"So we'll take turns. You go first." He waved at the floor next to him, where he'd laid out the other sleeping pad scavenged from the Jaffa quarters down the hall.

Sam looked at the mat longingly, but then shook her head. "I don't think I can, I'm too wired." It was dark out, had been for a while; it had to be night in Las Vegas as well. "You think they're in the city by now?"

"Maybe," he said, the worry on his face a match for hers. "But you know it could take a while: you know how these sorts of missions go. They may have to hide out and wait for an opportunity."

"I know," she said. She stared at the sleeping pad for another minute, and then smiled. "Oh. I just remembered what would be even _better_ than sleep."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Uh, Sam, I'm honored, but you noticed the bandages, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't kid yourself. We're on a Goa'uld ship with an independent power source. _Hot showers_, Daniel!"

"Oh god, you're so right." With Sam's help, Daniel struggled up from the floor and followed her out of the pel'tak. Three doors down were the Jaffa quarters, still scattered with the abandoned belongings of the men who had crewed the ship when it was operational. Sam entered the small attached bath and waved a hand in the cleaning alcove; the fine mist that began to fill the stall was warm and faintly scented. Sam watched as the mist rose, ending abruptly at the edge of the alcove, as if held in place by a clear glass wall. Just another force field, a little more refined than most Sam had run across.

She was out of her clothes in moments, and then stopped, feeling guilty. Daniel had been up as long as she had, and was equally dirty. "You want to go first?"

"Not if you let me watch." He looked as worn as she felt, but the smile was vintage Daniel: sweet and knowing.

Sam felt the blush all the way to her ears. "Daniel!"

His shoulders propped against the door, Daniel shrugged. "I may be polyglot, de-snaked, and multiply resurrected, but I'm still a man, Sam."

She bit her lip, looked down, then stuck her head into the shower stall. "Well," she said consideringly, "there's plenty of room." She cocked her head at him, letting a grin spread across her face, and kicked her pants to the side. "Lose the clothes, Doctor Jackson." It was a command decision: they needed a break.

He hesitated. "You're sure we can risk it?"

Sam nodded, as she squatted to unlace his boots. "We're fully cloaked, the sensors are set, and I've rigged an alarm to sound throughout the ship when the signal comes in."

He nodded, reached to pull his shirt off, then winced. "Um, Sam?"

"I got it." She eased the shirt off him, and tossed his boots into the hallway while he unzipped his pants. "The bandage?"

"Take it off, we've got more. Soapy water won't do any damage. C'mon, Doctor Carter." Daniel wrapped his hands around her upper arms and steered her backwards into the stall, blinking at the mist as it beaded on his lashes.

Sam began to pick at the tape on his ribs; Daniel hissed, but stayed where he was, moving only to tap the water controls. The mist turned to a warm spray pounding from the ceiling. Sam closed her eyes and sighed, letting the warmth soak into her muscles. She pulled off the last of Daniel's bandages and dropped them on the floor. After a moment she leaned forward and rested her forehead on his collarbone, feeling Daniel's hands move up her arms to her shoulders, kneading gently. Time slowed; the world narrowed to the heat on her back and neck and shoulders, the faint herbal smell of the water, the pale itch of desire that wasn't enough to make her do anything than wrap her arms loosely around Daniel.

"Feel better?" He asked at length, drawing his hand down her hair, and then down her back. He left it at her hip, thumb drawing tiny circles on her belly.

"Uh-huh," Sam murmured into his skin. She suspected she'd dozed off there for a few minutes.

Daniel soaped his hands and they washed, laughing softly as they teased each other. When they were done, Sam dried them both and Daniel led her back to the pel'tak, stumbling with exhaustion. She wanted to check the console, but Daniel pushed her down onto the pad. "Sleep." So she did.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, T minus 1 day**

  
"You are out of order, Jaffa." Serak waved at a slave, who brought him a large goblet full of Tau'ri ale. He took a large gulp, closed his eyes briefly, sighed, and opened them again to glare at Rah'nak. "The safety and security of the goddess are no longer your concern."

The room Serak had taken as his operations center had been a gaming room: dozens of the complex Tau'ri toys were pushed against the walls, to make room for the great ebony table and red leather chair from which Serak presided over Kiralla's military empire.

Rah'nak was not so obvious as to grind his teeth, but he was tempted to spit on the glossy surface of the empty table. "Except insofar as they are the duty of every Jaffa in her service, my lord."

Serak squinted in suspicion. "Indeed." He shrugged elaborately, with no attendant jingle of armor. Serak wore red robes, only slightly less gaudy than those of the gods themselves. Armor was for lower-ranking Jaffa, who were not responsible for strategy and intelligence. Men who wore armor all the time, Rah'nak had heard Serak say, were little better than simple guardsmen. Rah'nak had never reported for duty out of armor; he never would.

"But the report, my lord." Rah'nak knew it was hopeless, but he could not help but make the appeal. "The Tau'ri are planning an assault of some sort. And SG-1 is still free. They could--"

"They could, they might!" Serak cut him off. "You have nothing, no solid information, no proof of anything but some mutterings on the radio. The Tau'ri are broken, Rah'nak. You are dreaming up trouble as a way of reinstating yourself in the goddess' favor. It will not suffice. You have displeased her severely."

"If they are so broken, my lord, tell me why my--why the Jaffa in Boston are besieged in the State House. Tell me why the radio traffic on the Tau'ri frequencies increases every day. Tell me what the Tok'ra are saying."

Serak narrowed his eyes. "These are minor inconveniences, easily rectified by the replacement of your former subordinates, who are clearly incompetent. You are dismissed, Jaffa." He lifted a finger, and the guards at the back of the room--guards Rah'nak knew, men Rah'nak had trained to do their duty without question--stepped forward. They did not need to level their weapons to make their point; Rah'nak bowed shallowly--insolence in itself--and left the chamber without another word.

Outside, he made himself keep moving until he was out of sight of Serak's chamber before he stopped and let himself lean against the wall, shaking with rage. It was happening, he _knew_ it. He could taste it, smell the blood and the dying and the failure around them all. Bekkan had reported, outside the chain of command and unapologetic for it: the garrison in Boston had lost still more men. He was strafing the city with gliders and al-kesh, but it was not enough. The rebels had even taken out an entire secondary command post in the Fenway! And Serak would not hear Rah'nak, would not see the warning signs all around: he would die that way, blind to the dangers of this planet.

Someone was coming: a door closed around the corner. Rah'nak straightened, lifted his eyes as they approached, to see it was merely one of Kiralla's--no. It wasn't just one of the goddess' slaves; it was the girl Dana, the lo'taur. She was carrying something in her hand, a slip of paper: a note, perhaps, from the goddess to Serak, commending him for his performance.

Serak, Dana, Kiralla. Serak stood between him and his duty; and it was Dana who had caused that. The girl, so soft with her glossy hair and her dark eyes and quick wit, slipping in between him and the goddess while his back was turned. Turning the goddess against him, giving Serak the opportunity to grind him down that Kiralla's patronage had always prevented. The girl, Rah'nak thought as she walked quickly down the hallway, her eyes on the carpet under her bare feet: it was the girl's fault, all of it. And Rah'nak himself had placed her there.

Before his thoughts went any farther than that, Rah'nak's staff weapon had dropped across the hallway, blocking the girl's path. She gasped and took a step back when her eyes met his. But only one step, then she stopped and stayed where she was. He was surprised by her confidence, given the marks she still bore on her throat from their last encounter.

"My lord, may I pass?"

She was small; he could break her if he wanted to. "Slave." There was a scent in the air: Rah'nak recognized it as the goddess' fragrance. Gold bangles jingled on the girl's arms as she shifted, darting a glance down the hallway behind him. But there was no one there. This part of the hotel was empty. It was why he had come this way.

"Better slave than fallen from the goddess' favor," she replied after a deadly pause. She curled her lip and rolled her eyes, sneering at him.

A Tau'ri slave, daring to sneer at a Jaffa, a man who had commanded armies. Rah'nak leaned his staff against the wall and stepped closer to her, forcing her to back up. "You think you are safe, slave? Arrogance ill befits you, and the goddess' kindness is changeable. Do not think you will defeat me; you are but a child, and I will outlive you."

She tossed her hair and drew a hand through it, emphasizing the thrust of her young breasts, the vitality of her body. "Oh, don't give me that shit. I'm in the goddess' bed, _my lord_, and you can't even see her. She's fucking crazy, but I get how the game is played around here."

The girl thought she could outwit them all. Rah'nak leaned a little closer, eye to dark eye with the girl. Her face was pale but confident, her lips firm. He felt a flash of respect for her, manipulating them all--even the goddess herself--to secure her position. There was no honor in it, but it showed a grasp of strategy and a commitment to survival that he valued in the best of his lieutenants. However, there was one fundamental error in her calculations, a piece of information she wasn't even aware she was missing.

"In the goddess' bed, yes, slave. But not indefinitely. Sooner or later you will be more than that. One might say you will _be_ the goddess' bed."

Dana narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but didn't respond. Rah'nak went on, letting the smile spread across his face. "You don't know what a lo'taur is, do you, slave?"

She shook her head, the arrogance on her face fading to uncertainty. "A servant," she said. "I help her dress, and run her errands, and--"

"--and when she is injured, or ill, or bored, she will pin you down and open your mouth and take your body." Rah'nak smiled as the girl's eyes widened. "You will be honored greatly--your body will live for months, or years, or centuries, as the goddess' earthly body. There is no greater blessing. But _you_, my deceitful little girl, you will be gone. Joined with the goddess in the holiest of sacraments, lost in her glory. You will be gone, and I will still be here, protecting and honoring her."

Dana shook her head, sliding sideways along the wall. Rah'nak allowed it, in a moment of generosity now that he'd regained the upper hand. The Tau'ri had no true belief, no understanding of the gods' divine nature. Her hand shook as she pushed her hair behind her ear. "You're lying. She wouldn't. She--she loves me. She said it."

Rah'nak put a hand on her neck and trailed it down to her breast, which he pinched hard, holding her in place while she squirmed and whimpered. "Of course she loves your body, you stupid child. And sooner or later she will take it for her own. So," he said, releasing her, "revel in your petty success. It is all you will ever have."

He left her there, leaning against the wall, shaking. The message to Serak had fallen unregarded to the floor.

There were still things he could do, actions to be taken. He was not defeated yet, and the petty machinations of fools like the girl Dana and the First Prime would not distract him from his duty.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, T-minus 1 day**

  
The bucket in the corner had begun to reek. Jack slid the lid back over it with his foot, not wanting to put his hands anywhere near it. Beth and the kid, whose name had turned out to be Juan, had courteously turned away, Beth with a blush, and Juan with the jaded air Jack associated with unpleasant high school kids that wore too much black.

"You gonna tell us what that thing was?" Juan challenged him, finally, as Jack was zipping up his fly.

"You gotta _ask_? Thought you were a guy."

"Bullshit, man! You know what I mean! What was that thing up there?" Juan looked twitchy, but not angry enough to risk confronting Jack physically. Just as well: Jack really didn't want to hurt the kid, who looked like he was four months away from his last good meal.

Jack went back to "his" spot in the room, next to the door. He kept the mop there, too, just in case he got a chance to use it. "How should I know?"

Beth frowned at Jack, backing up Juan. Made sense, Jack realized: Jack was an unknown quantity, but Beth and Juan had been together in this room for a while. "You knew yesterday, you called them 'snakes'. How'd you know?"

No way was he spilling his history to these people. Besides, there was still no way to tell if they were bugged. Goa'uld tech was sneaky: they could have listening devices in the toilet paper, in the doorknob. Or one of the kids could be snaked, although it seemed unlikely: Goa'uld weren't good at undercover, Kytano notwithstanding. The arrogance always gave them away.

"Been around," Jack said finally. "Saw some things, saw one of those Jaffa dead, with a snake coming out of his belly. You ever see one of them, stay far away." He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. The floor was hard, but he'd slept in worse places.

"That's it?" Juan's voice was incredulous. "That's all you're gonna say?"

"Actually," said Jack, sitting back up.

The kids waited, faces attentive.

"Can you hand me a couple of those towels? I need a pillow."

  
+=+=+

  
**Quabbin Reservoir, T zero**

  
Sam changed Daniel's bandages for the third time when they woke up to the sunlight streaming in through the view screen of the pel'tak. There had been no alarms, no alerts; Sam decided she wasn't going to worry about the colonel and Teal'c. Not yet, anyway. Daniel was healing well: the wound was clean, the bleeding had stopped, and there was no sign of infection. Sam applied the last of the antibiotic ointment and rewrapped the burn lightly.

"You've gotten good at that," Daniel said, pulling down his shirt. "Janet would be impressed."

"Field medicine isn't the same, though," Sam pointed out. She pushed herself to her feet and crossed over to the console to see if the auto-pilot had magically fixed itself while they were sleeping. No such luck. She sighed and began to bring the ship back to life, so they would be in orbit when the signal came.

Daniel rolled the mats up and stashed them in the corner, and then sat down with the P-90 and a rag. He disassembled it carefully and efficiently, laying the parts on the floor in front of him. Sam watched him with a faint twinge: although she knew he was familiar with weapons, this level of comfort was new.

"How _is_ Janet doing?" she asked, wondering if Janet had changed as much as the rest of them had.

He shrugged, without looking up from his work. "Losing Cassie was hard, but she's busy at the Alpha Site. When I left she was trying to get Redfield to allow SG-4 to go trading for medical supplies."

Sam frowned. "So, she's okay? I mean, except for Cassie?"

The rag slipped along, paused, and kept moving. "No, Sam. Janet was on the mountain with me; she's never going to be okay, not the way you mean."

They had found Daniel in the spring, and it was full summer now. In all that time, despite many late nights talking with the team or curled around Sam, he'd never said more than a few words about the mountain. Sam picked at a scab on her hand and turned to look out at the sun shining on the trees outside. "What happened there, Daniel? What was it like?"

He was quiet for a long time. When Sam looked over at him, his hands were unmoving on the disassembled weapon, his eyes hooded.

She shifted her weight, uncertain. When he finally began speaking his voice was low and toneless, in marked contrast to its usual energy. "We were close to starving for months. Some of the girls slept with the Jaffa to get us more supplies, but there was never enough. Janet--" he paused, blinked, and then continued. "Janet was so angry all the time. I think it kept her alive, while so many other people were dying. They didn't really need us, you know: there were still people in the area, all along the Front Range, who would have done anything for food.

"But Sindle liked to act like he was a System Lord, and that meant a stable full of slaves. Godhood, worship, the whole damned thing. So we did his little song and dance and they'd give us scraps. In return we worked on the mountain, digging out rock and crushed computers and body parts, mostly by hand. Thirty floors of dead, NORAD and the SGC both.

"I've been through a lot, Sam, you know that." He looked up at her now, his face open, haunted. The P-90 lay forgotten on the floor in front of his crossed legs. "I've never been through anything like that. And without Janet, I don't think I would have made it."

"Oh," said Sam. _Oh_. She blinked as she felt an ache settle in her chest. She ignored it and crossed to Daniel, crouched down next to him, and put her hand on his.

He looked at her cautiously. She brushed her finger over the scars on his hands, the ones he'd never spoken of, and then wrapped her hand around his. "I'm glad she was there." And she was, very glad--Daniel and Janet were alive, and so many others who wouldn't have been if they hadn't been there. "I think she probably needed you, too."

He shrugged, but squeezed her hand in response. "Maybe. She's pretty strong."

"She is," Sam agreed. "I bet she's got Major Redfield doing everything she wants by now."

Daniel lifted his other hand and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You're probably right."

A beep from the console cut the moment short; Sam wasn't entirely ungrateful for the interruption. She was going to have to think about this.

"What is it?" Daniel asked as she checked the controls.

"I'm not sure," she said after a moment. "I set the comm system to record the traffic on the standard Goa'uld and Jaffa frequencies, and scan for keywords. Guess one got triggered." She queued up the recording and played it over the intercom. It was in Goa'uld, of course: the words were mostly meaningless to her, two male voices communicating in clipped and official tones.

She did catch a few words in English, though: "SG-1" and "Las Vegas". It was a brief conversation, no more than two minutes. Daniel winced a few times during the recording, and then frowned when the two men, whoever they were, signed off.

"Well?" Sam asked.

Daniel shook his head. "We may be in trouble. That was someone in Boston talking to someone in Las Vegas, I'm not sure of his name. Raynek, maybe? They intercepted some radio traffic that mentioned Jack by name. And they suspect that the trouble we've been stirring up in Boston and Chicago is on purpose. And--this is the worst thing, Sam--they've finally missed the al-kesh. They're watching for us now."

"What are they going to do?" SG-1 had been so lucky so far: it couldn't hold forever. If Jack and Teal'c were walking into an ambush...

"Well, that's the thing. Those guys--I'm not sure, it sounds like one of them's been demoted, so I don't know what he _can_ do. Maybe nothing, or maybe have gliders blanketing Las Vegas so Jack and Teal'c would get captured before they get anywhere near the Luxor. It did sound," he added, "as though they don't know Jack's already there. Still, it's not good."

"Crap," Sam said. There was no way to warn the colonel; he and Teal'c had carried no radio, nothing that would identify them other than the carefully-disguised transmitter itself.

Daniel nodded soberly; there wasn't really anything to say. He picked up the P-90 and began to reassemble it, competent hands slotting each part into position. Snick, snick, snick, went the weapon as it clicked together. Sam touched him on the shoulder and headed down to the cargo bay to check on the explosives. It was all they could do: prepare, and wait for a signal that might never come.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, T zero**

  
"Missing?" Rah'nak roared as he barged through the door to Serak's chambers. One of the guards tried to get in the way; Rah'nak thrust him aside without breaking stride. "An al-kesh is _missing_ and you do not think to inform me?"

The First Prime raised his head from the length of fine purple cloth he'd been examining. "Why should you be informed of _anything_, Jaffa? You forget your place."

"Because the Tau'ri are rising and you are here, playing with your toys!" Rah'nak seized the material and yanked it off the table, sending an array of other trinkets flying. The guard at the door leaped forward and put his staff to Rah'nak's chest. He ignored it. The content of Bekkan's latest communication had been horrifying, despite its brevity. Yet more men lost, no support from Serak, calls for help from Calcutta and Capetown that went unanswered, and a _missing al-kesh_. "These Tau'ri defeated Apophis, you fool! Heru'ur! Sokar and Chronos! They are not fools, and this is not a game! Will you have the goddess' empire slip through your fingers in your arrogance?"

"My lord, shall I kill him for his impudence?" The door guard activated his weapon, but Serak hesitated, some of the confidence slipping away.

"No, wait." Serak stood up and approached Rah'nak, his robes sweeping the floor. He was no longer young; had not been for a long time, Rah'nak realized. Perhaps this was his last symbiote, or next-to-last. Whatever he was, whatever life he had left, was dependent on Kiralla: no other god would take him. If she fell, Serak too was doomed. Serak put up a hand and motioned the guard to step back. "What would you do, then?" he asked Rah'nak with a cold curiosity.

Rah'nak lifted his chin. "Set a perimeter around the city--" Serak shook his head. "The hotel, then. Pick up _all_ the Tau'ri, and question them, under torture if necessary. SG-1 knows we are here, they must, and they will strike at us."

How would they use the al-kesh? Would they wait until the goddess returned to Boston, and intercept her in the air? Would they merely harry the gliders running patrols? Would they remove the ordnance and use it elsewhere? But no, Rah'nak thought. Everything he knew, all his experience told him that this was not the beginning of a long campaign: it was a sudden, deadly strike. But where, and how?

Serak's voice came to a halt. Rah'nak realized what Serak had said, and repeated, "You have prisoners now? Already?"

The First Prime shrugged. "Of course. The goddess wanted them for her new offspring, but did not want to use any of the slaves we have already trained. We picked up one of them yesterday, not far from here."

Tau'ri prisoners who had been captured _in the city_. Rah'nak caught his breath and then knelt formally to Serak, doing him the honor generally reserved for one's training-master, or the goddess herself. "My lord, please. Grant me this: allow me to interrogate the prisoners. Let me serve the goddess in this, and redeem myself in her eyes."

Serak considered him, while Rah'nak stayed on the hard floor, his knees aching. Never before had his armor felt so heavy. He wondered if he, too, was aging, if soon he would have to beg the goddess for a prim'ta in order to continue serving her. Serak left him there for several long minutes while he thought, pacing back and forth in front of the great black table glittering under the harsh light of the gaming room. Pretentiousness mixed with uncertainty, Rah'nak suspected; it didn't make him any more sympathetic, though.

Finally Serak stopped and waved back the guard. "Go," he said. "But if nothing comes of this, I shall tell the goddess all, and you will suffer her punishment. The prisoners are in the basement."

He was truly caught in a vice, Rah'nak realized, as he rose to his feet as gracefully as he could and turned to the door. If he were right, they could all die; if he were wrong, he himself would die, and most unpleasantly. The goddess had little patience for insubordination. Better for all, then, if he could determine the Tau'ri plan and stop it before it came to pass.

With luck, the prisoners would tell him everything--whether they wanted to or not. When he exited the gaming room, he began to run.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, T zero**

  
It had been a long time since Jack was a prisoner; he'd forgotten how damned boring it was.

"Andalusia," he said.

"Not another fucking A," muttered Juan. "Alaska."

"I said Alaska already," pointed out Beth. "Try something else."

"Fuck, right," said Juan. "Gimme a minute. Alabama, Alaska, Arizona... Oh! Got one. Antietam."

Beth's voice was querulous in the darkness. "Antietam? Where's that?"

"Fuck if I know," said Juan. "Learned it in school, I think."

Jack yawned and cracked his neck. "It's a Civil War battlefield. Beth, you have M."

"Morocco," she said promptly, and Jack groaned. Os were a pain in the ass.

Sherry's symbiote was probably in full control by now. If Sherry was--had been--a member of the resistance, that could be trouble. Although so far nobody had recognized Jack; he supposed the beard and the grey had something to do with that. It was still risky, waiting.

"Time is it?" he asked suddenly. "Anyone know?"

"Morning," said Beth. "Pretty early, I think."

"How can you tell?" There were, after all, no windows, and they'd lost most of their personal gear, including watches.

The lights flickered on: Beth must have moved. Juan swore and put his hand over his eyes. "The air's off during the night," Beth said. "They only run the air-conditioning during the day. Cool air is daytime."

So, early Friday morning. He had about ten hours, Jack figured, before he was out of choices. He really hoped Teal'c had a plan, because Jack was pretty much screwed, otherwise.

There were voices on the other side of the door; must be shift change. A particular deep rumble caught his ear, and he suppressed a smile. If T was on the job, he wouldn't be here much longer. But nothing happened, although Jack sat upright next to the door, keeping a hand close to the mop that was his only weapon.

"O," reminded Beth after a couple of minutes.

"Sshhhh." Jack waved at her, pinning his head to the door. Just voices. He thought he'd heard Teal'c, but now he wasn't sure. And--fuck!--the door latch was moving.

Jack lurched back from the door, grabbing up the mop and scrambling to his feet. What to do--unless Teal'c was out there, he'd never succeed in an escape attempt. But this could be their only chance. Fine, then: Jack would hope that Teal'c was there--he wasn't enough of a fool to miss this opportunity. He shifted his weight to an easy balanced crouch and held the mop like a quarter-staff, ready to swing or jab, as the moment provided.

The door swung inwards, and then things got kind of crazy.

A tall Jaffa with a startling shock of white-blond hair came through the door, zat in his hand. Jack had time to notice that this one had armor polished to a high gloss, and, unusually, Kiralla's lily device tattooed on his forehead--and then the Jaffa's eyes widened in recognition. "O'Neill!"

"Shit!" Jack swung the mop; the Jaffa dodged and fired. The zat blast missed Jack, and set fire to a stack of toilet paper. Beth screamed.

Something was happening out in the hall: Jack heard a body crash into the wall. But he was a little busy here. He jabbed desperately with the mop. This time he managed to knock the zat out of the Jaffa's hand. Which would have been useful, except the zat fell to the floor and skittered under the shelves.

It'd be really helpful if one of these kids would give him a hand. But there wasn't any time to check on them, because the next time he swung the mop, aiming for the Jaffa's head with the metal clamps at the end, the Jaffa grabbed it from him.

Not good, then. The Jaffa snapped the mop across one mail-clad knee. "_You_ are O'Neill? I had thought you were more intelligent than to deliver yourself to me this way." Then he smiled cheerfully, amiably, even. "But I am very grateful you did. Now," and the smile morphed into something harder, "let us put an end to it. Tell me--"

Jack never did find out what the blond guy wanted. He was interrupted by Juan making a break for the door. The Jaffa snagged Juan with one hand and slung him hard into the shelf; the kid staggered and fell to the floor. Beth stayed where she was, against the wall next to the piss pot.

"Ferran!" the Jaffa snapped. "Help me subdue these prisoners, they are being difficult."

Jack looked around a little desperately for a weapon; toilet paper and towels wouldn't do much at a distance. Maybe he could overset the shelving unit? He wrapped a hand around the edge of the upright nearest him and heaved, but it didn't move. He grunted and yanked at it again.

At that moment, a large form appeared in the doorway. "My lord?"

"Stun these prisoners," ordered the blond one. "They are to be interrogated, starting with that one." He pointed at Jack.

"Certainly, my lord." The Jaffa in the doorway lifted his zat and shot the blond one. He stepped over the body, paused, and looked down. "My apologies."

"Bout damned time, T!" Jack let himself lean against the shelf in relief. He hadn't been looking forward to taking the Jaffa on hand-to-hand, not that he was going to admit it.

Teal'c handed him a zat--and Jack's own gun, who knows where he had kept it--and bent to bind the wrists of the Jaffa on the floor. "There were too many Jaffa nearby, and then this one appeared, with orders to interrogate you. I fear our cover has been blown," he added, with the cheer he always showed when he got to use a particularly juicy idiom.

"Got that right," said Jack, digging under the shelf for the last zat. "He knew my name. Did he recognize you?"

"No, I was careful to stay behind the other guards," answered Teal'c. He crossed to Beth and offered her a hand. "It is time for you to leave," he said.

She shrank away, shaking her head. "What, 'come with me if you want live'?"

Jack cackled. "You're not wrong. Time to go, kids. You don't want to be here in an hour." He flexed his fingers and dug one hand into his rear pocket. There was the transmitter, just a tiny disk. He detached it and looked at it: just a little copper disk, not even the size of a dime. Shrugging, he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed hard; after a moment, he felt the tiny pop as it engaged, and it warmed quickly to something hotter than body temperature. There weren't a lot of hiding spots; Jack stuck it on the underside of the top shelf, above the toilet paper.

"What was that?" asked Juan, holding a blood-stained towel to his head.

"Nothing to worry about," said Jack. "But it is _definitely_ time to blow this popsicle stand." He and Teal'c ushered the kids into the hallway, where they found three other Jaffa crumbled on the floor. "Impressive," he said, cocking his head at Teal'c. "So, which way--"

He was interrupted by a shout down the corridor. A slave in Kiralla's livery ducked out of sight and ran away, yelling something Jack couldn't decipher. But he didn't need to; instead he swung around the opposite direction. "Guess we go thisaway."

Beth's hand was clammy with sweat; Jack didn't let that stop him from towing her down the hallway at a run. "Run, dammit!"

There was a doorway at the end of the hall, with a beautiful red exit sign above it. But above and behind them, Jack heard the shouting, and feet pounding down the stairwells. The jig was up.

They ran.

  
+=+=+

  
**In orbit, T zero**

  
The alert sounded, naturally, when Sam was in the head. The squealing of the alarm she had set almost made her drop her pants, which would have been a problem--Jaffa toilets have no seats.

By the time she finished, zipped up her jeans, and dabbled her hands in the narrow aqueduct of running water curving along the wall, the alarm had stopped.

"Sam," said Daniel on the intercom, "I assume you heard that?"

"I did!" she yelled back, but she was two levels down, so instead of hunting for an intercom speaker she just ran for the lift. She bounced out, pelted around the corner, and nearly knocked Daniel over in the doorway. "I'm here, I'm here!"

"So I see," he said, and for a moment Sam thought he was going to push up his nonexistent glasses. Instead he scratched his nose. "That's the signal?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, crossing quickly to the control panel. "And it's right where it ought to be." She pulled up the holomap and showed Daniel: one blinking red dot, in the middle of Las Vegas.

"So they're alive," Daniel said, a note of relief in his voice. She looked at him sharply: wasn't Daniel the confident one on this mission?

"Probably," she replied. "One of them, anyway. I don't think anyone else would be able to figure out the transmitter, if anyone even noticed it."

"Okay, then. I've got our gear ready to go, and I started scavenging on this floor while you were downstairs. Got some goodies."

Sam's pack was open: she peered inside at her one spare t-shirt, a plastic bag of deer jerky, and one packet of C4. Just in case. She was down to one clip for the Beretta; but then she saw, piled off to the side, what Daniel had meant by 'goodies'. "Where'd you find them?" she asked, picking up one of the zats and checking its charge: three-quarters full. There were five zats, a staff weapon, and two palm-sized ovals that she peered at dubiously. "And is this what I think it is?" she added, picking one up.

"It is if you think it's a power pack for a staff weapon. There's an armory down the hall. Locked, but I was able to finesse it." He shrugged, but he looked inordinately pleased. Wherever they were going next, at least they weren't going unarmed. Sam wanted to kiss him, so she did.

He kissed her back, with interest, and then grinned. "What?" she asked, bending down to tuck the power packs into her backpack.

His grin grew a little wider. "If I'd only known, all this time, that all I needed to do was give you shiny new weapons--Ow! Hey, wounded, remember?"

They decided to give Jack and Teal'c an extra five minutes over the hour they'd all agreed on. Daniel had argued for ten, but Sam didn't want to risk it: anything could happen in that time. Sixty-five minutes was what they got, to get out of the radius of the blast. Assuming--well, just assuming.

"What _is_ the radius, then?" Eight minutes to go. Daniel jammed the wedge a little more deeply into the doorway: the last thing they needed was to get stuck on the pel'tak after Sam locked the target into the computer. It took forty seconds to run from the pel'tak to the ring room: they'd timed it. They would have one hundred seconds between the point when the ship was irrevocably set and course and before the rings would necessarily deposit them in Las Vegas. Any delay could result in Sam and Daniel materializing on Kiralla's front step, just in time to get vaporized along with the rest of the hotel.

"I can't tell," said Sam. "It depends on the explosive force of the impact, how stable the explosives we brought are, and what kind of material Kiralla's got--oh." She hopped off the chair and went back to the control panel. "That I can actually check. The sensors should be able to pick it up if..." The panel told her something unlikely. Sam narrowed the sensor sweep and turned up the gain. The panel told her the same thing, only more so.

"If?" asked Daniel, and moved up beside her. "That's a lot of something," he said, tapping the graphic on the panel. "What were you looking for?"

The air in the cabin was desert-dry; Sam swallowed painfully. "Naquadah," she said. "I was looking for naquadah."

Daniel's eyes widened in horror. "She didn't."

"She did," said Sam. Whatever else was in Las Vegas, there was a large stockpile of naquadah at ground zero: in, or near, the Luxor. When this al-kesh hit, falling from orbit at an unstoppable speed, the naquadah would combine with the force of the impact and the conventional explosives on the al-kesh, to produce an immense explosion. Sam stabbed at the panel, bringing up the stupid-but-occasionally-helpful AI the goa'uld used to run their ships. "C'mon, c'mon," she muttered, entering in factors, some of which she had to guess at. Speed, height, vector, amount of explosives, amount of naquadah--the computer thought about the question for half a second and spat out an answer.

"Oh, god." She stepped back from the panel. When she realized her hands were shaking, she wrapped her arms around herself. Outside the view screen of the al-kesh, stars sparkled above the curve of the Earth; it looked beautiful, but cold. This was the first time she'd been in space since before the attack, and she hadn't even realized it. Maybe the last time she ever would be.

Daniel put a hand out to her, and then looked at the results on the display. "Oh," he said. There wasn't any need to say more.

A radius of five miles in each direction from the point of impact would be engulfed in the initial explosion. After that would come the fires, and then the radioactive fallout from the naquadah, and after that, long-term consequences Sam couldn't even begin to imagine.

Las Vegas was going to be obliterated.

"What are we going to--" Daniel stopped, closed his mouth, and opened it again. The silence grew and grew, until it shaped another presence in the flashy gold environs of the pel'tak. The decision drew itself up and tapped Sam on the shoulder, breathing in her ear.

Sam stared at the panel. There was no time to take the charges out of the explosives in the cargo hold. There was no one to advise her; Jacob would be starting the assault on the gate just about now. She wished the colonel were here, then took it back. He had enough difficult decisions on his shoulders; if he survived, he didn't need this one, too.

There was a muffled beep as Daniel called up the sensors again. "Well," he said as the panel resolved, "there's a couple of hundred people in the target zone, and another three hundred or so within the blast radius. The city's pretty empty." He hesitated, and then said matter-of-factly, "It's bad, but not as bad as it could be." But he couldn't meet her eyes.

Sam looked at her watch. Four minutes. The colonel and Teal'c were down there somewhere, hopefully running hard. _Run faster,_ she thought at them, and realized she'd made her decision. There never had been a question, anyway: the Goa'uld would kill far more people in the years to come. She put her hand on Daniel's shoulder, feeling the reassuring flex of muscle, the solidity of bone. "Get the gear to the ring room. I'll be right behind you."

He squeezed her hand once, then scooped up his pack, tucked zats into all his pockets, and picked up one of the staff weapons. The P-90 he left for Sam. He was on his way out, and then stopped at the door. "Sam--"

She didn't look at him. "Go, Daniel." He went.

There wasn't much to be done at this point. The program was all laid out, all she had to do was activate it and run for the ring room. She considered, briefly, _not_ running; imagined Daniel waiting and waiting, and then refusing to leave her; let the ache in her bones and her brain that six hours of sleep hadn't even touched tempt her with the thought of simply _stopping_. It would be over quickly, after all, and few women would have such a memorial.

But she had her orders: _don't die_. So she wouldn't, no matter how simple it seemed.

Four--three--two--now. Sam input the last command, executed it, and ran, swinging her pack onto her back as she hit the door. It seemed a long way to the ring room, and a minute and a half wasn't long enough.

The floor was slick under her sneakers; she tripped and fell once, the P-90 clattering angrily as it hit the ground. "Shit!" She wiped a hand across her eyes, and then scrambled to her feet. Two more hallways, through that set of doors, left, and then--

"Sam!" Daniel had piled the gear in the center of the rings, and was standing by the controls, one hand hovering over the panel.

She staggered to a stop inside the ring platform, breathing far more heavily than she ought to be. "Time?" she gasped.

"Thirty seconds," he said. "Ready?" At her nod, he slapped his hand down on the control and leaped to join her on the platform. Sam pulled the P-90 up into her hands, ready to shoot as the rings dropped down around them. No telling where they were going to land, and most rings were guarded by Jaffa.

_Well, that's done,_ she thought, as the world turned white and went away.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, T zero**

  
"My lord! Second-captain!" Someone was shaking his shoulder.

Rah'nak bit down on a groan and rolled over. It had been years since he'd been hit with a zat'nik'tel, and he'd managed to forget how much it hurt. He pushed himself upright and looked around the storeroom, empty but for the Jaffa helping him to his feet. Rolls of toilet paper cluttered the floor and the bucket in the corner had been overset; the place reeked of urine and feces.

"The prisoners?" he asked.

"Escaped, my lord," he was told. "There is a team going after them now."

Rah'nak shook his head. "Find them quickly. It was O'Neill, and--" he paused as he remembered that he'd been struck down from behind. "The Jaffa who brought in the new prisoner. Who was he?"

The Jaffa looked confused. "I--just a Jaffa, my lord. He said he had been in Nezer's army and was lost in the mountains when his glider crashed."

Grinding his teeth with frustration, Rah'nak stalked out of the storeroom and into the hall, where three other men were leaning against the walls, trying to shake off the effects of a zat'nik'tel blast. "What did he _look_ like?"

"He was tall, my lord, and carried Apophis' sigil."

This could not be happening. Rah'nak swore aloud and stalked down the hall toward the stairs. O'Neill and the shol'va Teal'c had been here, within his grasp, and he had missed them both. His ancestors would be shamed by his failure to meet even these most simple challenges.

SG-1 had been here, and now they had fled; and Rah'nak desperately needed to know why.

Upstairs, Serak was leisurely directing the search for the missing prisoners. Which meant that two gliders were spiraling out from the hotel, shooting at everything they saw move. No word yet, though. Rah'nak resisted the temptation to send out a dozen more gliders: Serak would never allow it, and Rah'nak had no proof that SG-1 had been here at all. No one else, after all, had recognized O'Neill, or--most shamefully--the shol'va.

As he paced in front of the windows, thinking furiously, a slave came running in and bowed hurriedly to Serak. Serak barely nodded, his attention fixed on the Tau'ri toy in his hands. "My lord," said the slave, words falling over themselves, "we have received a communication from the Jaffa of the god Sindle."

Rah'nak blinked. Sindle was difficult: prickly, offensive, far too conscious of his own rather tenuous position. He had refused Kiralla's invitation to attend the summit, but had coated the refusal with sweet words and insisted the demands of duty were the only thing keeping him from her side. He was, of course, lying: his staff was more than capable of guarding and operating the chaapa'ai, through which supplies and information flowed from their few supporters among the System Lords. There was no reason for any contact with him at this point.

"And?" Serak snapped, putting the toy on the table in some annoyance.

"And the chaapa'ai is under attack, my lord." The slave hunched his shoulders, as if expecting to be beaten for the news. Rah'nak had seen it done, although it was not his practice: he needed all news, good or ill. "The Tau'ri are at the gates, and the force field has failed."

The Tau'ri were attacking the chaapa'ai right now, Rah'nak realized. At the same moment two members of SG-1 had been here, in Kiralla's stronghold, and then fled.

What was it--but he was not to complete the thought.

"Where is she!" The door to the game room crashed open; a Jaffa who did not move quickly enough was blasted across the room with a negligent wave of the goddess' hand. Kiralla stalked into the room, following by a twittering group of slaves and unsettled guards. Her eyes gleamed with fury, more brightly than any of her jewels. She stepped across the deep carpets with the delicate tread of a great predator, bare feet sparkling with rings and the paint on her perfect toes the color of blood.

"Did you not _hear_ me, Jaffa?" She stopped in front of Serak, who flung himself to the floor: a pre-emptive move, Rah'nak estimated, designed to alleviate the goddess' wrath. "Where is she?"

"Where is whom, oh bright and glorious one?" asked Serak of the carpet.

Rah'nak pursed his lips, but did not allow himself a smile. So the girl had broken and run after all. Tau'ri: so weak.

"My girl!" snapped the goddess, swinging her head around as if to spot Dana hiding in the shadows between two gaming machines. "She is missing!"

"The lo'taur, oh blessed and divine one?" Rah'nak inquired cautiously. It would not do to be too forward, but now was his best opportunity to redeem himself in her eyes. "The girl Dana?"

"_My_ girl," confirmed Kiralla, with a slanted glance at him. "Find her."

"At once, glorious one," stammered Serak, scrambling back to his feet. He motioned to several Jaffa and began to issue orders. Rah'nak doubted that they would be able to find the girl: she was intelligent enough to slip out of the hotel without being noticed, and Las Vegas was full of places to hide. She was gone.

Besides, there were more important things to be concerned with. SG-1 was out there, and they had to be found. While Serak was occupied with the hunt for the lo'taur, Rah'nak could send out another few gliders to search for O'Neill and the shol'va. He would also send some gliders to Colorado, to assist in the defense of the chaapa'ai. Whatever was going on, Rah'nak suspected they were running out of time.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, Target Day**

  
Jack and Teal'c burst out into heat and sunlight that hit like a staff blast. Jack yelped and put a hand over his eyes--bastards had stolen his hat--but kept moving. The two kids followed as he and Teal'c put a couple of blocks between them and the hotel, washing up finally in the guard shack of a mostly-empty parking lot.

"Shoulda blocked that door," said Jack, peering back at the hotel behind them. The door they'd left by was hidden behind a couple of dead trees, but he was sure someone would be coming out any moment now. "How many do you think, T?"

Teal'c pondered, taking the opportunity to remove his collar and lay it on the ground, then went to work on his greaves. "It is likely they would send two search parties, and possibly several gliders. We should move quickly."

Jack nodded. They were south of the hotel: they needed to cut west, cross the highway, and then north again to where they'd left the car. Not that there weren't cars around; but these other cars didn't have three gallons of gas in the back seat. And they didn't have time to screw around, finding another car that would run. It would have to be the Karmann Ghia. Except, Jack realized bleakly, the Karmann Ghia only seated two. Figure it out when they got there, he decided.

"Um," said Juan, and stepped out the door of the shack.

Jack stared. "Where do think you're going? This whole place is about--" He cut himself off.

Juan looked at Jack and Teal'c, his face as distrustful as it had been inside the store room. "I'm outta here. Thanks for the prison break, I guess. Hey," he added, cocking his chin at Beth. "What about you?"

Beth hovered in the doorway, clenching her hands in the soft cloth of her fringed jean skirt. Juan shrugged and turned away, walking across the parking lot as if there weren't a hundred Jaffa ready to shoot them a couple of hundred yards away.

"It's not safe here," Jack said to Beth, too conscious of time sliding past. "We can give you a ride..." She was a nice kid: she didn't deserve to die here.

Her mouth was open; she looked at Jack, back at the hotel, wetting her lower lip with her tongue. "Thanks," she said, and then stalled out.

"No, huh?" Jack said. She nodded. "Then _run_," he said. "As fast and as far as you can."

Juan was already across the street, heading south. Beth dashed after him, her feet flapping on the pavement. Within moments they went around the next corner, where a Walgreens sign dangled over a broken window.

It was maybe four minutes since they'd left the hotel, Jack figured. Beth was barely out of sight when the first of the Jaffa came out of the hotel. Jack pulled back into the shack, hand clenched around the zat. They watched tensely as the Jaffa split into two groups, one headed north, one south. Which was fine by Jack, since he and Teal'c were headed west. They waited for an opening, and when they got it, slipped out and around the back of the next building. From there it was a straight shot to the highway, so they ran.

Ordinarily Jack wouldn't enjoy this kind of run: it was hot as hell, midday in full sun, and the waistband of his jeans was already soaked with sweat. But, weirdly enough, he didn't mind. Every time he looked back over his shoulder, he imagined the whole glittering complex behind them collapsing into shards. He grinned and kept running.

It wasn't quite the quick getaway they'd planned. They were only a few blocks further on when Teal'c yanked Jack into the cover of a dead hedge. A breath later, a single glider passed over head, moving at a slow pace: searching for them. They had to hide from gliders twice more, and it slowed them down, so by the time they reached the Karmann Ghia, it was 35 minutes since they'd left the hotel. The skin between Jack's shoulder blades was beginning to crawl, and he made the decision to risk being spotted by a glider in order to get out of the city as fast as possible. That meant taking the interstate north.

The car started easily, although it was hot as hell inside. Jack swore at the way the brittle vinyl seats burned his thighs, even through his jeans. They crept cautiously along the frontage road, looking for an on-ramp; Jack spotted one a couple of hundred yards ahead. On the corner by the ramp was a Shell station, the soda machine by the door fallen sideways.

As they neared the corner, Teal'c stirred. Parked in front of the garage, as if its owner had simply stopped for gas and walked off, was a mint-condition late-sixties Ford Mustang. A midnight-blue beauty. The driver's side door was open and there was a tire iron on the ground next to it, Jack noticed, as they approached.

"O'Neill--" said Teal'c suddenly, but Jack was already pulling over.

"Saw it."

There was a foot sticking out of the open door of the Mustang. Which by itself wasn't that unusual; they'd seen a lot of bodies in cars. But this foot had _moved_.

Jack left the motor running, and approached cautiously, zat in hand. Teal'c swung wide and went around to the other side of the car. As he got closer, Jack saw a leg attached to the foot, and then another foot, this one propped against the inside of the door. The legs were skinny, what he could see of them, the feet bare. Above the ankles was a fringe of material that looked like someone had hacked off the bottom six inches of a pair of Levi's.

"Fucking hell!" A woman's voice snarled, muffled by the way her head was hidden under the dashboard. One leg jerked and the knee banged against the steering wheel, followed by more swearing.

Jack looked up at Teal'c, who had lowered his zat to point at the ground. Jack raised an eyebrow; Teal'c shrugged minutely, with a hint of a smile.

"Looks like you need a hand," said Jack mildly, prepared to use his weapon.

The body sprawled across the front seat froze. One hand emerged from under the dash and felt about; Jack saw a large wrench on the seat. Before she reached it, Teal'c had stretched an arm through the other window and relocated it. After a moment of fumbling, her hand went still. Jack suspected he heard a sigh.

"C'mon out," said Jack. "We're not gonna hurt you."

There was a wait of a few seconds, and then the woman squirmed awkwardly out, leading with her knees and ass. A more vulnerable position Jack couldn't imagine, although he appreciated the view he got as she contorted herself out of the car. He stopped appreciating it, though, when he saw her face. This was a woman by biology only: if she was more than 20, he'd eat the hat he no longer had.

"Who are you?" the girl asked suddenly, crouched against the open door of the Mustang.

Jack examined her before answering. She had a lot of makeup on, although it was smeared with sweat and grime, the eyeliner smudged around her eyes. That in itself would have been enough to give her away, but the shirt she wore over the cut-off jeans looked like the top half of one of the tunics Jack had seen all the slaves in the Luxor wearing. She had tied her long hair back with one of those wire twisties that were used to close bags of vegetables, back in the day.

"Doesn't matter," said Jack. "Except I know how to get that car started. _And_ I've got gas." The girl's eyes widened; Jack suspected she hadn't gotten that far in her planning. Teal'c came around the back of the Mustang, and the girl jumped to her feet. Jack raised the zat, waving it warningly. "Nah-uh. Take it easy."

"She won't want me back," she said, her face hard. "I ran away, she'll just kill me. She's got plenty of others--"

"We are not taking you back to Kiralla," said Teal'c. At a nod from Jack, he went to the Karmann Ghia and began removing their bags and the gasoline canister.

The girl watched Teal'c open the car door, then switched her gaze back to Jack, her eyes suspicious. "Then where are you going?"

"Away from here," said Jack. "And fast." He stared at the girl for another moment, and then shrugged. "Look, we're going with or without you. If you want to come, we'll take your car."

She leaned back against the side of the Mustang, folding her arms. "And if I don't want to come, you'll take it anyway."

"Well, it is a lot prettier than ours..."

He almost got a smile for that, followed by another glare to make up for it. "Oh, _fine_," she snapped. "But I'm not sleeping with you."

"I am relieved to hear it," said Teal'c, and calmly began loading their gear into the trunk.

The Mustang started with miraculous ease, once it was given a jump from the Karmann Ghia. Who knew hot-wiring would be such a necessary skill, in this Mad Max world? The girl--Dana, she'd sullenly admitted--insisted on taking shotgun. And Jack, mindful of promises, folded himself into the rear so Teal'c could drive.

Ten minutes left; this had _not_ been a sensible stop. But the Mustang was a hell of a lot faster than the old Volkswagen would have been; Teal'c had it up to eighty before they'd cleared the ramp. Whoever had owned this car had taken excellent care of it, that it had lasted so long and ran so well after sitting empty for the better part of two years.

"So who are you guys?" asked Dana as they hustled northeast, weaving around debris and the occasional abandoned car.

Jack met Teal'c's eyes in the rearview mirror briefly; Teal'c raised an eyebrow and left it to Jack. "I'm Jack," Jack said casually, "and that's Teal'c. You might say we're no fans of the Blessed and Glorious."

"Is anyone?" she asked, with a cynical twist of her mouth.

"The Jaffa are," said Teal'c calmly, as the towers and dying palm trees of the Strip fell into the distance behind them.

Jack began to breathe a little easier. "Not all of them, though," he said, with a glance at his watch. Just another minute or so, and then they'd know. _Be there, Carter. Do your thing._ "Some of 'em, like Teal'c here, think the Goa'uld are no more gods than Wayne Gretzky is."

"Was," corrected Teal'c.

"Is. They didn't hit Phoenix very hard. I bet he's still out there." Dana's face was blank with incomprehension. "Hockey?" said Jack. "You know, ice skates and pucks, the Great Gretzky--?"

Teal'c glanced in the rearview mirror and stiffened. "O'Neill," he said warningly.

Jack, peering back, saw a spot in the sky, moving with that eerie disregard for the limitations of the human body that he'd grown to recognize over the last half-dozen years. "Glider," he warned, although there wasn't much to be done about it, if it saw them.

Teal'c responded by standing on the accelerator: the speedometer crept up towards, and then passed, one hundred miles an hour. Dana squeaked a little and tightened her seatbelt. The sun-baked asphalt shimmered in front of them, the mile markers whipped past, and with every twenty seconds they gained a better chance of survival. The hills in the distance crept higher. They were well out of the city; Jack began to believe they might make it, and then began to worry that Carter had gotten it wrong.

Which was, of course, when the blast from the glider hit the Mustang.

Teal'c must have had some warning; he'd begun to swerve even before the impact, but it wasn't enough, and they were traveling so fast. The blast hit the rear of the car, on the right side, taking out the tire, and--Jack dimly realized, while clinging to the back of Teal'c's seat--the axle too.

The Mustang skidded, fishtailing wildly; Teal'c compensated, his face grim. The noise was unbearable. Jack couldn't hear anything above the screech of metal on asphalt, even though he could see Dana's mouth moving, her eyes wide and frightened.

The car began to slow, and Jack started to worry about the glider getting another shot at them. There was an unholy crash as they ricocheted off a semi in the breakdown lane; Teal'c was trying to slow them down, bleed off velocity.

They slowed some more, spinning gently sideways; Jack figured there were only doing about forty by now. He couldn't see the glider above them; maybe it had left? After another few seconds without dying, he began to breathe again.

Too soon. Sliding mostly sideways, still moving pretty fast, the Mustang hit something, maybe a curb. Teal'c hadn't seen it, whatever it was, and by the time he realized it had happened, it was too late. The Mustang leapt into the air, hit the highway barrier, and rolled over it like an athlete over the high jump. They were in the air for what felt like a long time. _Well, that's it,_ Jack had time to think, before they hit, coming down almost upright on the driver's side of the car.

If they'd been on level ground, they would have been okay, but instead the passenger side kept going, and the car rolled over completely, ending up on its roof. They slid down the embankment next to the highway, bouncing around the inside of the car like pebbles in a can, before finally coming to rest, upside-down.

Jack fumbled at his seatbelt. There was blood in his eye and his chest hurt, but he didn't have that stabbing pain he usually got from cracked ribs. There was a reason they had to get out of the car. He twisted his head far enough to look out the window.

Oh, right. The glider, which was right there, perfectly framed in the empty space where there used to be a window. It was, he realized dimly, lining up for another run at them. "Teal'c," Jack slurred, putting a hand out to Teal'c.

It came back covered with blood. "What?" Hanging upside down in his seat belt, it was hard to think. Hard to figure out why it was a bad thing that Teal'c was folded in on himself on the roof of the car.

"We gotta--" said Jack, and looked out the window again at the glider.

It was getting closer; Jack could almost see the face of the Jaffa in the cockpit. Dana said something, but Jack didn't hear what it was--he just kept looking at the glider, and the tiny flash when its weapons armed.

Typical SG-1 plan, Jack figured: do the job, get out, and get screwed at the end. _Fuck._

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, Target Day**

  
The Jaffa at the communications console shook his head; the escaped prisoners had not been spotted yet. Rah'nak clenched one fist--behind his back, where it would not be noticed--and continued pacing. The urge to send out more teams, and an entire squadron of gliders, was hard to resist.

"Jaffa," he said, in an attempt to distract himself. "Contact the chaapa'ai and find out what the status is."

Across the room, Kiralla had evicted Serak from his chair and was curled up in it, half asleep on the cushions. Like that, her divine glory muted, her eyes dimmed, she reminded Rah'nak more than anything of Emeran. His younger daughter loved the Festival of the Longest Night, and always begged to stay up until the torches were lit--and always fell asleep during the singing.

He had missed three festivals; this year Emeran would be singing herself, and he would miss it again.

"My lord." The Jaffa raised his hand. When Rah'nak crossed over to him, the Jaffa shook his head. "I'm receiving no replies, my lord. They are not responding."

Outside the window, a glider passed, sweeping low over the wide avenue in front of the hotel. Rah'nak frowned; it was hard to imagine the Tau'ri could possibly field a force sufficient to overcome Sindle's Jaffa. Although, he was forced to admit, Sindle's Jaffa were not among the elite. After he recaptured SG-1, he would secure the chaapa'ai and make sure it was properly guarded; it was too important to leave to Sindle's weak forces. After he recaptured SG-1, the goddess would re-instate him.

"Very well," he said. "Keep trying."

He stepped away and went to the window. The world was dull: grays, browns, tan. Even the clear sky was faded and dull, as if the heat had bleached out the blue. Somewhere out there were four escaped prisoners, running. A messenger came in, and he turned, but it was a message for Serak, who took it with a sour grimace.

Rah'nak found it hard to pity the man. "The girl has not been found, then?"

Serak shook his head. "The goddess will be most displeased." He paused, and then pursed his lips. "She knows you disliked the girl."

A chill ran down Rah'nak's back. "I would never touch the goddess' property." This was a theory he could not risk Kiralla hearing. "But the girl is Tau'ri, after all. They are not reliable."

Serak slanted a thoughtful glance at him, and then back at the goddess. "Perhaps," he said at last, reluctantly. "These Tau'ri are not trained to service the way our households are. But it will not please the divine one."

"When we have captured SG-1," Rah'nak assured him, "she will be mollified. And," he dropped his voice, leaning in to Serak, "there are other girls."

"_If_ you catch them--"

Serak was interrupted. "My lord, a glider reports a vehicle on the highway!"

Rah'nak strode to the window, Serak behind him. They could see nothing from this angle, however. "Headed where?"

"North, my lord. Shall he pursue?"

"Pursue, but I want these prisoners taken alive," said Rah'nak. "Alive, do you hear? We must learn what their plans are." The Jaffa nodded and relayed the command.

"Captured by a glider pilot?" Serak raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You are an optimist."

"My lord?" A slave was at the door: Teran, the slave who monitored the Tau'ri radio frequencies. He looked extremely nervous, and when he spotted the goddess, dozing on the chair, he blanched.

"Yes, what is it?" Rah'nak waved him over. He wondered how long it would be before he could legitimately report the capture of SG-1. And where was that missing al-kesh? O'Neill would tell him. O'Neill would tell him, and the shol'va would pay for all his betrayals.

Teran shuffled his feet. "I've found something odd, my lord."

"Yes, go on." It could be a clue to what they were up to; any information would help the interrogation of the prisoners.

"I--there's a signal, my lord. I picked up a signal." The slave would not meet Rah'nak's eyes.

"What kind of signal? From where?"

Teran shrugged, a tiny movement of his shoulders. "A constant signal, my lord: on an unusual frequency. And I think it's from--well, from _here_."

Here? Rah'nak looked around him. Why would there be a signal from here?

The room was cluttered with Jaffa, slaves, and gaming machines. While the goddess slept on her rich cushions, another messenger arrived and spoke to Serak. There was a soft chime as the goddess shifted position, the bangles on her wrists knocking against one another. Everyone in the room went silent, holding their breath, and then relaxed as she continued to sleep. It was a great honor that the goddess would rest in their presence; but no one wanted to be the one to disturb her.

What kind of signal would someone want to--

There was a missing al-kesh.

SG-1 had been here, in this building.

Rah'nak's vision darkened; he stretched out a hand to the wall to steady himself. "Where in this building is it from?" When the slave didn't answer right away, Rah'nak slapped him across the face. "WHERE?"

"My lord!" babbled the slave, hunching his shoulders. "Down, my lord! In the cellars!"

In the cellars, where the prisoners were held. Rah'nak forced himself to breathe: once, twice, bringing the air into his lungs. His vision began to clear. "Jaffa, Kree!" The four closest guards snapped to attention. "Take this slave and find the source of the signal he knows of. Destroy it. Immediately!"

They bowed and turned. "Run!" Rah'nak snarled, and they ran, nearly tripping over one another in the doorway. Rah'nak leaned close to the window and looked up into the clear sky; if it was coming, it would come from the air.

But the shouting had woken the goddess. "Rah'nak," she said over a yawn as she straightened in her chair, drawing her hands over her braids. "Why do you disturb my rest?"

"My lady," began Rah'nak, turning to kneel to her. He would explain, and she would forgive him, because he was going to save them all. But as he turned, he caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye.

  
+=+=+

  
**Fifteen miles north of Las Vegas, Target Day**

  
It was a sunny day, but suddenly, behind the glider, the sky went _white_, the light so bright Jack winced, flinching backwards. When he opened his eyes again, the brightness was still there, but he could see the glider, the highway railing, the blood on his hand. Then the noise hit: a great roar that felt as though the mountains were falling around him, on him. The car shook, sliding downhill.

Just before he blacked out completely, Jack saw the glider slapped to the ground like a spiked football.

  
+=+=+

  
**Las Vegas, Target Day**

  
There was no time to speak or think or realize anything; Rah'nak went to his death with nothing more than surprise and a feeling of resentment.

  
+=+=+

  
**Unknown location, Target Day**

  
There were no Jaffa in the room. Sam blinked. There was no one else there, either: just Sam, Daniel, and piles of furniture.

They were in a large room in a American-style house. Two windows were hidden behind velvet-upholstered armchairs stacked one on top of another, filtering out most of the bright sun. There was enough light, though, to show the jumbled masses of furniture. The armchairs were just the start of it. Sam shook her head in bemusement and stepped out of the ring platform, nearly tripping over a rolled rug on the floor, tossed down on top of another, and another under that. Even the reverse sides, dulled as they were, looked valuable. Filling one third of the room was an immense dinner table, fully twelve feet long, with a complex ivory inlay on the top and curving gilded edges. Behind the furniture, stacked against the walls, were framed paintings and photographs, many swathed in rich fabrics: velvets, iridescent silks, brilliantly clashing patterned lengths of cloth like those in an Indian marketplace.

"What is this?" she asked quietly, looking under the table at a tiny chest: it looked like it was made out of jade, but surely jade didn't come in pieces that large. Did it? "Where are we?"

Daniel shook his head, looking as baffled as she was, but didn't lower the staff weapon. "Let's find the door," he said, edging carefully past a mahogany wardrobe. Behind all the furniture, the room looked like it belonged in an old farmhouse, with bare walls and simple white woodwork. But the chandelier dangling from the center of the ceiling, Sam suspected, was not original to the room, not with the crystals dangling low enough to brush Daniel's head.

"Here," Sam whispered, as the crystals jangled and Daniel swore softly. The door was behind the table, which was easier to climb over than to move.

Daniel went under rather than over: Sam suspected his ribs were to blame. They paused at the door, listening. No sound that they could discern, no indication that there was a guard just outside the door.

She shrugged and let the P-90 dangle, drawing a zat instead; he shrugged back. "One, two, three," Sam said. On "three," he opened the door and she leveled the zat through the opening.

No one was there. Sam paused, then edged the door wider. It was a hallway; across was another door, also closed. There was a window at the end of the hall, looking out over a green lawn, with some trees. Sam looked the other way: more hallway, two more doorways, and then a door at the end. No people, no activity; complete silence.

"Oooookay," she said, baffled, and stepped out. No booby-traps, either. "So, where _are_ we?"

Daniel went to the window and looked out. After a moment he leaned the staff against the wall and threw up the sash. "Sam, come here," he said, sticking his head out the window. "Listen."

Sam leaned out the window: she saw vast green lawns, that looked well-maintained. A driveway with no cars in it. And along the horizon, mountains. A jagged skyline she recognized, because she had lived in view of it for seven years. "Daniel, we're in--"

His hand closed over hers. "_Listen._"

She listened. And now she heard what he was hearing: in the distance, beyond the trees, she heard gunfire. They weren't just in Colorado: they weren't even just in Colorado Springs. They were in Sindle's compound, and Jacob's attack had started. Sam sighed and leaned against the window frame. _Not done yet._

She was so tired. But her dad was out there, and the kids from the lodge.

Right, then. Time to go.

"So what do you think?" Daniel asked. They had crept cautiously through the house to the front door, but the house was empty of Jaffa and snakes. Now they were crouched in the trees on the edge of the yard, uncertain which way to go. The Stargate was north and west of them. The gate to the compound, where the fighting was going on, was due east. They had seen no sign of Jacob's strike force, the one that was supposed to flank Sindle's Jaffa and take them from behind.

By Sam's watch, the assault on the front entrance was supposed to have started an hour ago. The firing in the distance wasn't constant: it happened in brief flurries of six or ten shots, and then died away again. It sounded, frankly, like a siege, rather than an assault.

"We go that way," she said, nodding eastward. "Let's go."

It was maybe a quarter mile away. Sam had Daniel lead, since he knew the ground. They stayed in the trees for as long as they could, but the line of pines curved north, and they were faced with open ground. Ahead lay some open lawn, and then a parking lot, empty but for a jeep parked at the far end. Beyond that were two large buildings to the north--"Dorms," Daniel said--and two warehouses to the south. Beyond the warehouses, Daniel said, sketching quickly in the dirt, was the loop of the driveway and then the narrow entrance in the fence around the compound.

"So on the other side of the warehouses?" The shooting had picked up again, and Sam could see a wisp of smoke above the roof of one of the warehouses.

"Yup." Daniel's face looked a little pale.

Sam wanted to stop and ask if he was okay, but he would say he was, and they had to go on anyway. Might as well skip the formalities. "Okay, then." She drained her water bottle, thankful they'd refilled in the house, and settled her ever-lighter pack on her back. They were down to a tiny scrap of leathery dried venison. It would probably break her teeth. Well, this would be the end: either they'd never need to eat again, or they'd have the chance to raid Sindle's supplies.

"Sam, wait." Daniel put a hand on her arm. With the other, he pointed out across the parking lot.

A Jaffa had emerged from behind the warehouse, and then another. The first one ran to the jeep; the other took up a position behind the jeep, facing back the way they'd come. Next came a large man in gold and white, his flowing robes glittering even at this distance. Sam frowned: he wasn't just large, he was morbidly obese. But there was something on his hand, something that caught the light. "Oh," she said. "Is that--" She didn't look at Daniel.

"Sindle," he said softly. "Yes. C'mon," he said, and tugged at Sam. "We have to beat them."

Sindle was followed by another Jaffa, this one limping severely. One Jaffa stayed on guard, and the driver and the limping one together heaved Sindle into the passenger seat of the jeep. The effort was visible even from this distance.

"What do you mean?"

"He's running for the Gate, Sam. We have to stop them."

This time Sam looked at Daniel: his eyes were a little glazed, but that might be the wound. And he was right, Sam realized. They couldn't afford to have Sindle escape offworld and bring back help.. Worse yet, some ambitious System Lord might decide to send more troops, or might show up himself to take care of things.

"Which way?"

Daniel grinned, a feral flash of teeth in his tanned face. "This way." He didn't wait for Sam, but took off running, weaving through the trees as if he'd taken that wound six months ago instead of fewer than thirty-six hours previously. Sam followed, keeping an eye on the jeep until there were too many trees in the way.

The Gate was set up in the middle of an open field, about two hundred yards from the nearest cover. There was, surprisingly, a DHD in place: someone had come prepared, Sam realized. How did they know that Earth didn't have a working DHD, she wondered, and then stopped wondering.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked, when Daniel hesitated at the edge of the trees. Just north of them was a break in the tree line, probably where the jeep would come through.

"Um," said Daniel, and activated the staff weapon. "Shoot them?"

"Well, that's _a_ plan." She thought rapidly. "There's only three Jaffa. I'll take out the driver with the P-90, and see if I can get the others. How many clips do we have left for the Beretta?"

Daniel fumbled in his pack. "Only one."

"Damn. Okay, use that after they close."

"If they do."

She shucked her pack and flexed her shoulders. "Thanks, but I'm not that good, and I'm on my last half-clip too."

"Here they come," said Daniel, and Sam heard the roar of a badly-mangled transmission approaching from the right.

When the jeep came into view, Sam dropped to one knee, raising the P-90. She was sheltered by one of the pines, but it was thin cover at best.

Her first shot took the Jaffa driving in the face. He slumped forward over the wheel and the jeep slewed sideways, heading towards Sam and Daniel.

Sindle shouted in Goa'uld, waving his hands. At this distance, he looked like one of the rare Goa'uld who had a mature host: a fair-skinned middle-aged man, with small eyes hidden behind fleshy cheeks. The Jaffa on the passenger side grabbed at the body behind the wheel and pulled at it, while the Jaffa in the back began firing into the trees.

Sam returned fire as the jeep slowed, but it continued on its weaving way, heading right for them. She nicked the Jaffa who was shooting, and he fell out of the car.

"Uh, Sam?" said Daniel.

Two down, Sam thought, but then the fallen Jaffa got up. She scowled and switched to automatic, spraying the jeep recklessly. The Jaffa wrestling with the steering wheel cried out and fell sideways.

"Sam!" said Daniel, jogging her elbow. "Look out!" He pointed off to the left.

Sam looked. Five Jaffa were running towards them, weapons ready. Apparently Sindle had an escort.

"Crap?"

"That about covers it," agreed Daniel.

The five Jaffa swept up to the jeep, laying down enough fire that Sam couldn't get a clear shot. She kept trying, though, and managed to take out another Jaffa. The rest of the Jaffa left the bodies where they were and started hustling towards the Gate on foot. Sam kept shooting as they passed--but the third time a shot she was sure of didn't do anything at all to Sindle, she realized what the problem was.

"Daniel!"

"I saw," he said. "He's got a shield." He met her eyes, face bleaker than she had seen it since he'd lost Senneth. She wondered suddenly how much of his good cheer had been a facade. "It doesn't matter, Sam. We have to stop them."

She swallowed and looked out at the retreating Jaffa. The DHD was about two hundred yards away, hunched like a mushroom in the open field, the Gate towering in the tall grass beyond it. It was a very empty space, and the Jaffa knew they were here.

Three to one odds. "Let's go, then."

Time did that thing it did sometimes during a fight: it slowed, and sped up, simultaneously. Sam and Daniel separated to split the Jaffa's fire, coming at them from as far apart as they could manage. The maneuver slowed the Jaffa, who had to keep turning around to shoot.

The clip on the P-90 went dry after the first two Jaffa fell, although Sam suspected later that Daniel got one of those with the Beretta. She let the P-90 swing from its clip and dashed forward, drawing a zat. Damn things didn't have enough range for this. She saw a staff swing towards her and dodged right, in a diving roll. She came up shooting blindly.

Her lungs hurt. Only three Jaffa were left, and the nearly-luminescent robes of the damned Goa'uld. But they were nearly at the DHD. One of the Jaffa shot at Daniel, who dropped as the blast seared the air above his head, and fired in response. The bullet took the Jaffa in the stomach; he cried out but didn't fall.

Sindle was at the DHD; Sam saw his robes flutter as he pressed one of the glyphs. The Gate began to spin. There was no more time. She pulled the other zat and raced forward, shooting with a zat in each hand.

In the corner of her eye she spotted Daniel, moving faster than she could have believed. He skipped the Jaffa altogether and went for the Goa'uld. Then she didn't have time to think about Daniel: she was too busy fighting for her life.

She caught one Jaffa with the zat, and he fell, but the other closed with her too quickly. She knocked the point of the staff away from her. He was fast, though, and young: he kept the swing going, and caught her hard on the shoulder with the butt of his weapon. She stumbled backwards, caught herself, and, dropping the zats, managed to grab the staff about a third of the way down its length. Teal'c's training had been useful: with a twist and snap, she had the staff. She reversed it and clocked the Jaffa in the jaw. He fell hard and didn't get up.

The Jaffa she had zatted had gained his feet; Sam leveled the staff at him. "Don't try me." The one that Daniel had shot was slowly sinking to his knees; Sam suspected the shot had killed the symbiote.

Daniel--where was Daniel? She backed away from the Jaffa, giving herself a greater angle so she could see the DHD.

Daniel was about twenty yards away, scrambling to his feet. The Beretta lay on the ground, far out of reach. Sam saw that flash of gold again and realized that Sindle must have used a hand device on him. The Goa'uld looked irritated as he turned back to the DHD, secure in his protective bubble. He wasn't even worried that his Jaffa were defeated. Three chevrons were lit on the Gate; Sam wondered what address he was dialing, where he hoped to go.

The Jaffa shifted his feet: Sam shot him a deadly look as she scooped up one of her dropped zats. "You're not going anywhere. Daniel!" she shouted. "Remember the colonel!" It wasn't much of a message, but maybe it was enough to remind him. Although Sam wasn't sure if Daniel even knew how to throw a knife.

He acknowledged with a wave, his gaze fixed on Sindle. She saw him speak, but his voice was too low for her to hear him. Sindle replied, but in Goa'uld. The grandiose gestures were a giveaway, though: it was some arrogant thing about worshipping his divinity, no doubt. Sam rolled her eyes, but Daniel dropped to his knees.

Sam gaped as Sindle paused, his hand above the DHD. With an imperious tilt of his head, he motioned for Daniel to approach. Oh, no. He couldn't be doing this. Sindle would never buy it.

But he did. Daniel crawled the five yards to the Goa'uld's feet: with every inch Sam held her breath, waiting for Sindle to raise his hand and throw Daniel fifty feet across the field. But he didn't. When Daniel reached Sindle, he collapsed forward onto his face. One hand crept forward to pat at Sindle's bloated ankles. But Sam saw the other hand reach down to the bottom of his pants leg.

There was another exchange: Sindle exultant, Daniel placatory. Then Sindle's smile widened, his eyes lit, and he raised his right hand, the one with the hand device on it. Of course he would take a defeated enemy and destroy him.

Too late, though. Daniel was close enough to be inside the personal shield, and that was enough. In a move as smooth as any Sam had seen performed by the colonel, Daniel drew the knife from his boot and launched himselves upwards. With his left arm, he knocked Sindle's hand to the side. And with his right hand, he slid the blade neatly into Sindle's eye.

The Goa'uld fell, screaming. Sam's Jaffa prisoner leaped forward and Sam was forced to zat him.

When she looked back, Daniel had the knife in his hand, his face grim, as he sawed at Sindle's neck. There was blood all over his hands. As she watched, he swiped absently at something on his face, leaving a smear, and went back to his work.

  
+=+=+

  
**Somewhere northeast of Las Vegas, Target Day**

  
Oh, Jack thought. _Ow._ He opened his eyes, or tried to: one of them wouldn't. The world was sideways, his face was grinding into something like gravel, and every time he breathed in, his chest hurt.

Plus, someone was shaking him. Every move made it hurt more, like a knife inside his lungs.

"Come on, wake up. Wake up, already!" It was a girl's voice. "C'mon, don't be dead."

He breathed in, out, trying not to whimper with the pain. And wiggled a hand. "Not dead," he whispered.

The shaking stopped, to his great relief. "Oh, good," said the girl. "Are you okay?"

Jack turned his head and finally began to make sense of what he was seeing. He was lying on his side on a sandy slope, about fifteen feet from an upside-down car. There was a strong smell of gasoline, and acrid smoke poured from the engine block.

The Mustang. Right. It was still daylight: he couldn't have been out long. But everything hurt, not just his chest and his head. His legs ached, his back felt like he'd tweaked it, he could feel his ears ringing. So, concussion, maybe a cracked rib. He'd be lucky if it wasn't any worse. He lifted a hand and pushed, rolling over onto his back. That wasn't a good idea; the pain made the world spin. "Ow."

From here, the sky was an unsettling brownish-grey, and dust hung in the air, dulling the light. The girl--Dana, he remembered--leaned over him, her hair falling into her face.

"Can you get up? You need to get up." Her face was smudged with dirt, blood, and dust, her dark eyes wide with worry.

"Up?" Jack winced at the thought. But--he turned his head, eyes scanning the area. Girl, sky, hillside, car. "Teal'c?" There was no Teal'c in sight. He looked back at the car, and then at the girl.

She nodded. "That's the thing: he's still in the car, and I can't get him out. You gotta help me."

"Alive?"

"Uh-huh, but he's not moving. And he's bleeding a lot." She pressed her lips together; Jack noticed she still had a smear of lipstick on, left from whatever she'd been doing for Kiralla.

Teal'c was bleeding, and trapped in the car. Hell with the concussion, then. Jack could pass out again later. "Okay," he gritted, and raised a hand to Dana. "Help me up."

There may be circumstances under which one one-hundred-and-ten-pound girl and one hundred-and-eighty-pound man can easily get a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound man out of the front of a totaled and upside down Mustang. These were not those circumstances. Teal'c was completely unconscious, and, Jack suspected, bleeding internally. Jack himself was in no great shape, and had to stop periodically to lean against the ominously ticking underside of the Mustang, while the world narrowed to a single grey circle. It would have been easier if the driver's side door had opened, or if the damned car had not had a stick on the floor; as it was, Teal'c took at least one hard knock on the head as they were pulling him out through the shattered window.

By the time they'd gotten him laid out on the ground, a safe distance from the car, the light was going. It was, Jack suspected, more from the dust in the air than from sunset. He settled Teal'c's head down gently and looked around in gloomy assessment.

They were on an open hillside in the desert: it was likely to get cold later, even in summer. Their supplies consisted of the dirty, torn clothes on their backs and whatever they could salvage from the car. The car. "Dana," Jack said. "There should be gear in the car, in the trunk. Water."

"Is he gonna be all right?" She hesitated, looking down at Teal'c.

Jack jerked his head at the car. "Get the gear." Because he wasn't sure. Teal'c had been wrapped around the steering wheel, and Jack feared that Junior, Mark II had been badly damaged by the impact. Jack was going to have to check on the symbiote.

The trunk was locked; but the pry bar was in the back seat, and worked to pop the trunk. Anything fragile would have been ruined, but Jack wasn't in the habit of carrying anything fragile on a mission. Three precious water bottles were still intact; Jack took three cautious sips and set the rest aside. Among the gear was a pocket first-aid kit: disinfectant, a few bandages, some painkillers, antibiotic cream that was probably past its sell-by date. And a packet of matches tucked into a tiny ziploc bag. Jack tossed those to Dana. "Start a fire."

She looked at him blankly. "Um."

"You're kidding me."

She shrugged, picking at the dirt with a filthy toe. "I'm a geek, not a girl scout."

Jack refrained from rolling his eyes. He was damned lucky she was here, and she'd done more than anyone could have expected for a couple of guys she'd met that morning. "Collect some brush now, before it gets dark. As much as you can. Pile it over there, and see if you can find anything big: you know, logs, sticks. There's gotta be something."

She looked around them with a skeptical eye: there was little other than dry desert shrub in sight. "Yeah, right." But perhaps she knew enough to be worried about the cold night ahead, or was just willing to humor the broken old guy; within a few minutes she had gathered a couple of armloads of brush, and was heading over the top of the rise to look for more.

Jack, meanwhile, set to work on Teal'c. He found a cleanish shirt in his duffle and, wetting it down, started to clean Teal'c off. There were cuts on Teal'c's face and neck; his right forearm looked like it might be broken; and blood soaked the front of his t-shirt. Jack wished Teal'c had kept the armor on, after all, as he ripped the shirt carefully up the front, exposing Teal'c's abdomen.

"Oh, fuck." Blood was caked around the entrance to the symbiote pouch. Jack checked Teal'c's pulse: he wasn't a field medic--that was always Carter's thing--but it felt dangerously slow. Whatever was wrong, Jack suspected he wouldn't be able to do a damned thing about it.

But he had to know if he could trust the symbiote to heal Teal'c, or if he was going to have to watch his friend die. Again. Or not. Jacob would be coming--soon, Jack hoped. Unless everything in Colorado Springs had gone to hell, in which case they were on their own, in the desert without a car, and with almost no water.

He was stalling. Jack wiped his hands clean, as best he could, and carefully reached into the pouch, pulling back one of the flaps. It was warm, sticky with blood: flesh wasn't supposed to fold like that. He couldn't see anything, though, so he pulled back another one and leaned forward, looking in, trying to catch a glimpse of movement in the poor light. Nothing.

With a wince, he let one flap go and reached into the pouch with his free hand. The symbiote was relatively young, from what Teal'c had said; it wasn't about to implant Jack, even if it was alive and healthy. Which seemed less and less likely--oh. Jack pulled his hand out slowly, drawing it into the light: a limp grey larval goa'uld, from which blood and other fluids streamed in equal measure. He shook it gently; it didn't move. Could a symbiote be unconscious? And then he looked closer: the larva's head had been crushed, and some of what was oozing around Jack's fingers was brain-matter.

"Gah!" With a reflexive jerk, he tossed it away from him. It fell to the ground about six feet away, scattering some gravel. Jack scrubbed his hands against his shirt. Then he carefully folded Teal'c's pouch closed. He didn't know what else to do: they didn't have any tretonin, and the antibiotics in the field kit wouldn't begin to prevent the kind of infections that would begin raging through Teal'c's system soon.

"Oh, gross! What is that?" Dana stood over the body of the symbiote, her arms full of brush and kindling. "Is that one of those things?"

"Teal'c's symbiote," said Jack. "It's dead. He will be, too, pretty soon."

Dana piled the wood on top of the brush she'd already collected. "Is there anything we can do?" Squatting, she began to pile small scraps of tinder in a clear flat area. "What's wrong with him?"

"Lots," Jack admitted. "Brain damage, maybe. Definitely a concussion, some internal bleeding. Nothing we can treat here." At least Teal'c was breathing okay, and didn't seem to be in any pain.

Dana grunted in pleased surprise: a tiny flame flickered under her hands. She picked up some tinder and fed it carefully, and then more, until they had a small but steady fire. She hunched over it, her incongruously painted nails dangling over her dirty knees. The fringe on her jeans trailed in the dirt.

Jack put his hand on Teal'c's head: it seemed cool for now. He tossed Dana a water bottle and pulled the blanket from the trunk over Teal'c.

The light died, dust settled slowly on their faces and their clothes, and to the southwest, beyond the crest of the highway, what was left of Las Vegas burned.

  
+=+=+

  
**Colorado Springs, Target Day**

  
Sam tied up the Jaffa with their own bonds, stripping them of any other weapons. The older one, a grizzled veteran of Cronus' armies, had a handgun tucked away; Sam took it with a lifted eyebrow. There weren't a lot of Jaffa, even now, who recognized the usefulness of human technology. She pocketed it and returned to Daniel, who was scrubbing his hands on the grass. Sam would have expected him to wipe them on Sindle's robes, but there really weren't any clean patches left. She winced a little and looked away from the corpse.

"Ready to go?"

Daniel looked up, his eyes unfocused, then down at the body. "Um," he said, went green, and with an obvious effort, defeated the urge to vomit all over Sindle's blood-spattered feet. Sam crouched down and rubbed his back. The muscles along his spine flexed, but he didn't retch. After a long moment he spat, and then again.

There really wasn't anything for Sam to say. He'd killed Sindle, who had certainly deserved it. And now they had to keep going. "We've got water in the packs," she finally said. "C'mon."

He shrugged stiffly, and then climbed to his feet. "Once more unto the breach," he offered with a wan smile.

They picked up the extra staffs and Sam kept the P-90 on its strap across her shoulder, just in case she found another clip somewhere. As they walked, a little stiffly, towards the spot where they'd dropped their packs, Sam noticed the silence.

The sound of gunfire in the distance, which had rattled at the edges of their perception since they'd left Sindle's house, had stopped. "Sam--" said Daniel, putting a hand on her arm.

"Dad," Sam said, in reply, and Daniel turned to look where she was pointing. From the northeast, out of the trees closest to the dormitories, came a group of twenty people. Humans, not Jaffa, walking wearily; and in the lead was Jacob Carter, his balding pate shining in the sunlight.

  
"Oh my god," she said. "They did it. Dad! Dad!" She waved the staff in her hands as though it were a flag in a high school marching band. Jacob waved a hand in response, and Sam dropped one of the staffs so she could jog to meet him as he led his people across the field toward the Gate.

Jacob met her with a desperate hug, his face easing noticeably when he let her go. "Sam, honey. How did you get here? Are you okay?" He looked bruised and weary, but unharmed.

"I'm fine, Dad," she said. "We ringed down--turns out Sindle has a set of rings in the house over there." She waved southward as Daniel came up, carrying the staff weapon she had dropped. "What about you, you made it!"

Jacob's people had paused when Jacob stopped, and Sam looked around her, seeing a number of familiar faces. Garcia and Cannon, Peter and Jeff. But Garcia was soaked with blood, her eyes dull with pain; and Jeff was limping heavily. "We made it," said Jacob, "but we lost a lot of men. It wasn't--" he stopped, with a flicker of his eyes towards the unfamiliar middle-aged man at his side. "I'll debrief you later," Jacob said finally. "What happened here?"

"We caught Sindle trying to escape through the Gate," said Daniel. "He's dead."

The stranger next to Jacob looked started, and then suspicious. "Sindle? You couldn't have!"

Daniel shrugged. "See for yourself."

Jacob nodded at Peter and Cannon. "Check it out, and bring those Jaffa to the warehouse and put them with the others." The two men nodded and moved off.

"So," said Sam after a moment. "Did it work? The plan?"

Jacob frowned. "You didn't hear it?"

"Hear what?" asked Daniel.

"That rumble? Must have been about an hour ago."

Sam shrugged; they'd heard nothing; they were probably in the house when it hit. "But you think it went off."

"I think we blew the hell out of _something_," said Jacob thoughtfully, as they walked over toward the Gate. "If we're lucky, it was Las Vegas."

"And Jack and Teal'c were out of range," added Daniel, a frown forming.

"Have you heard from them?" asked Sam. "Wait, I forgot, no radio."

Her father nodded in confirmation. "Safer that way. But we've got a rendezvous spot. Give me some time to get everyone settled and we can go pick them up." He turned around and waved at his people, drawing them in closer.

Sam stepped back to let him speak, and to watch as Jacob gave commands for the securing of the compound. The injured would be brought to Sindle's house or the houses around it, where there was most likely to be supplies they could use. The Jaffa would be confined under guard in the warehouses. "Sam," said her father, drawing her aside after sending most of his people off. The stranger, who must be Curran, Sam realized, lingered nearby, as if too proud to take orders but too ignorant to be otherwise useful.

"I need you to set a guard on the Gate," Jacob said quietly.

"Because?" she asked.

"Because I don't trust everyone here, and even if I did, we're all exhausted. It would be too easy for one of the Jaffa to get away, and dial home to Chulak or someplace even worse."

"I can do that," she said, with a glance at Daniel. "And then can we--"

"Later, Sam," said Jacob compassionately. "I've got injured, and I have a healing device, but only one. Besides, if--" He stopped.

Sam didn't need him to finish, anyway. If Jack and Teal'c made it out of the city, they could wait for another few hours. And if they hadn't, nothing Sam or Jacob or Daniel did would make any difference, anyway.

"Right," she said. Jacob put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she went to see who was still upright, and trustworthy enough to guard the Gate.

  
+=+=+

  
**Somewhere northeast of Las Vegas, Target Day**

  
The dust in the air got thicker, settling down on them in an eerie coating. Some of it was clearly ash, bits of charred paper, and god only knew what other, more toxic, materials. There had been a breath of wind earlier, but it had died and now the air itself stank.

Dana dropped another bundle of wood next to the fire and looked at Jack, hip cocked. "Could use some help here," she said. "Or is this enough?"

He looked up at the sky, then towards the south, where the horizon was hidden behind the rise to the highway. The air had gotten dim with the dust and the encroaching sunset, but there was an unsettling glow in the direction of Las Vegas. Jack suspected it wasn't going to be fully dark in this area for days.

"We're probably fine," he said, and nodded at the ground. "Take a load off." They still had almost two bottles of water: he tossed one to Dana.

She settled down with a grimace on the bare dirt. Her feet looked filthy and scratched from the rough ground. "So this was your great escape plan? Can't say I'm that impressed." She spilled a little water on her hands and tried to wipe them and her face clean; it didn't help much.

Jack tried to snort, but ended up choking on the dust in his throat. "And your plan was so great?" he managed when he'd recovered. "You don't even know how to hot-wire a car."

"Yeah, well." She shrugged and rubbed her arms; the temperature had dropped as the light died. Jack fumbled in his pack and pulled out a spare shirt, which he handed to her. She looked at him skeptically for a moment, and then took it. "Thanks. So, um, what's your deal, anyway? How'd you know to run like that?"

Jack poured a little water onto the tail of his shirt and rubbed it on Teal'c's forehead. The ink came off slowly. "Whole story would take too long," he said. "But, ah. I'm with the resistance."

"No shit."

"You asked."

She rolled her eyes, but waved for him to continue.

"We knew about Kiralla's big meeting with the other Goa'uld, and figured out a way to take her out."

"Wait, wait. _You_ arranged that explosion? You weren't just escaping: you _knew_ it was gonna blow."

"T and I were there to set the transmitter for the hit. Our friends loaded an al-kesh with explosives and dropped it on them from orbit. But it wasn't supposed to do... that." He nodded towards that dim glow in the sky. "Was supposed to take out the hotel complex, not blow the entire city." The way Jack figured it, either Kiralla had a secret stash of naquadah, or Carter had added something special to the al-kesh's payload.

Dana switched her gaze to Teal'c. "So he's not just a free agent, then, looking for another job."

Jack checked Teal'c's pulse again: slow, but acceptable. "Nope. He hates the Goa'uld as much as we do."

"Why?"

Nine years working with Teal'c: it was hard to remember that even now, most people didn't understand how it all worked. "The reason the Jaffa work for the Goa'uld is because without the snakes in their bellies, they die. The Goa'uld get lifetime slaves, the Jaffa get long lives and good health. Except the Jaffa don't have a choice: they were genetically engineered to be dependent on the symbiotes."

"Oh." She stared at Teal'c for a while. "But his is dead. What happens to him?"

Jack didn't answer. Instead he got up and walked up the embankment to the highway. Behind him, he heard Dana say, softly, "Oh."

There was nothing to be seen from the highway; just dust and ash narrowing the world to a dull brown-grey fog, in an unsettling diffused light. It wasn't possible any longer to see more than fifty yards in any direction. Jack hoped this wasn't going to be a problem for Jacob. As it was, Jacob was late; if he didn't come soon, Jack would have to make a decision.

Fuck. He'd give it until the morning, and then see. No way he was leaving Teal'c behind. Maybe he could leave Dana here and go scout for a car.

On the way back down the slope, Jack stumbled, kicking a stone loose ahead of him. It clattered down the hillside, coming to rest about three feet from Teal'c. Jack followed it down, and when he squatted down by Teal'c's side again, hand reaching automatically to check his pulse, Teal'c's eyes opened.

"O'Neill," Teal'c whispered--or that's what Jack figured he was saying. His lips were grey, like his skin; Jack hoped that was mostly the bad light and the dust over everything. Teal'c moved his head a little, and then stopped.

"T, buddy. Bout time you joined us." Jack wet the t-shirt and dribbled some water into Teal'c's mouth.

Teal'c swallowed, painfully. His lips moved again, and his eyes tracked from Jack's face to the sky and back. Jack couldn't tell if he saw Dana, hovering uneasily a few feet away. Jack gave him some more water.

"Stay still. We're looking after you." Where was Jacob? He should be here by now; it had been hours since the blast.

Teal'c raised his hand, grasping at Jack's sleeve, tugging weakly. Jack leaned forward. "What?" Jesus, he looked worse awake than he did unconscious. "What is it, T?"

"I wish," whispered Teal'c, almost mouthing the words rather than speaking them, "to be burned on Dakara--"

"Shutup." Jack yanked his hand free and sat back. Fucking hell. He wanted to hit something. Instead he put on the colonel's voice, the one he hadn't had to use with his team in a long time. "You're not dying, Teal'c. You hear me? You're not dying."

Teal'c eyes wandered away from Jack again. "Mustang?" he whispered at last.

"Sorry, dude," said Jack, forcing a smile into his voice. "You saved our asses, but the car's totaled. So you gotta get on your feet; no way I'm going back for that damned VW."

Jack looked up at Dana, scowling; but she was carefully poking the fire. When he looked back at Teal'c, though, his eyes were closed. After a desperate moment, Jack put his hand on Teal'c's neck, and felt the reassuring thrum of his pulse.

Where the _fuck_ was Jacob?

The fire sputtered fitfully; the still dead air gave the illusion of warmth, but it was likely that it would get cold later. Jack fished some dried venison out of his pack and handed some to Dana. She took it with a dubious look but chewed on it obediently.

"So, why are we sitting here? Shouldn't we be calling for help or something?"

He looked around the spot ostentatiously. "You see a radio? Besides, we've got a ride, it's just a little late."

Dana rolled her eyes but stopped asking questions, thank god. Jack wondered if she'd have been better off staying with Kiralla; if Jacob didn't come, they were kind of screwed. At least Juan and Beth died fast. When it looked like she was going to topple into the fire from exhaustion, Jack propped himself up on the least comfortable rock he could find and gave her his pack for a pillow. Cold and discomfort ought to keep him awake, he figured.

"Jack! Jack, wake up!" Someone was shaking him. His head hurt, and he was lying on the ground. Deja vu all over again. Except that was Daniel's voice Jack heard, and it was Daniel's hand on his shoulder.

Jack groaned, opening his eyes. Daniel loomed in front of him, frowning so familiarly. Jack raised a hand and Daniel closed both hands around it, pulling him to his feet. Daniel was alive and, apparently, whole. He leaned on Daniel more than he needed to, just for a moment. Once he'd gotten his balance, he looked around.

"Don't touch him, he's hurt!" Dana was batting at Jacob's hands as he examined Teal'c.

"Stop it," Jacob said irritably. "We're his friends, and I'm trying to see if--oh. Damn. Jack, did you know that--"

"I know, Jacob." Jack let go of Daniel, who stepped cautiously around Dana to get to Teal'c. "He's got internal injuries and a concussion. Tell me you've got a healing device in that ship."

"Sorry, Jack," said Daniel. "We left it with Sam in Colorado."

Jacob finished his brief examination and straightened, wiping his bloody hands on the blanket. But it was Selmak who spoke. "Teal'c is badly injured and he has lost a great deal of blood, but his injuries are not fatal unless untreated. We should return with him immediately."

"No shit," muttered Jack, and began to gather the gear.

It took all four of them to get Teal'c up the embankment and into the ship that Jacob had parked on the highway, Dana tottering along at the end of the line, carrying Teal'c's huge calves under her arms. They laid him down carefully in the cargo compartment on some blankets, and Dana ran back down to get the rest of their stuff, such as it was.

"So where'd you find her, Jack?" asked Jacob, with a nod toward the open airlock. "Isn't she kind of young for you?"

Daniel snorted; Jack glared at both of them impartially. "I think she was Kiralla's lo'taur. We found her trying to jumpstart a car on our way out of town."

Daniel blinked thoughtfully. "Huh."

"What, 'huh'? And you guys got any water?"

Jacob pointed toward the cabinet in the wall, and then headed up to the bridge.

"Well, that's two for two, isn't it? Lo'taurs you've rescued?" Daniel said it the way he always handled anything relating to Baal: casually, as if it weren't of any particular importance. As if Baal had no greater weight than any other System Lord.

"Guess so," said Jack, gulping down some water. About the only positive thing that had come out of this whole debacle was that he'd stopped dreaming about Baal two years back. Dana came back in, and dropped two backpacks and a bundle of her own clothes on the floor. Then she sat down against the wall and glared at Jack. "What is it now?"

"Duh, introductions?"

Daniel raised both eyebrows. "You were a lo'taur with that attitude? And she didn't kill you on the first day?"

"So I'm a good actress," she said, and then gave Daniel a dazzling smile. "I'm Dana Johannsen. I was a sophomore at BU when the attack happened. And you are?"

Daniel gave Jack a questioning look; Jack didn't have the energy to do more than shrug. Security was much less of an issue than it was three weeks ago. "I'm Daniel Jackson. I'm a, um. Huh."

"Professional pain in the ass?" Jack suggested, as the ship gave a small lurch and lifted into the air. Jack raised his voice to shout, "ETA, Jacob?"

"Ten minutes, Jack," came Jacob's reply. "Sooner if you'll be quiet and let me drive. It's like pea soup out here."

Daniel squatted down to check on Teal'c and nodded reassuringly to Jack. He was moving stiffly, and his clothes were filthy with dirt, grass-stains, and blood, but he seemed okay. Jack assumed Carter was, too, or someone would have said by now.

"So what the hell happened back there, Daniel? How did our surgical strike turn into nuking all of Las Vegas?" He also wanted to add, "And while I'm asking questions, _what the fuck took you so long?_" But he was pretty sure he knew what happened: they'd had wounded to deal with, and had to secure the facility. Jacob would have figured that Jack and Teal'c were fine, or Jack and Teal'c were dead, and going to pick them up wasn't at the top of his list. As it wouldn't have been for Jack.

Except Teal'c had bloody froth bubbling from his mouth, and even with a healing device, without a--

Daniel was still talking, something about sensors and naquadah, but Jack tuned him out and stared at Teal'c. Jacob would have Jaffa prisoners.

"Jack?" Daniel was staring at him.

"What?"

Daniel opened his mouth, but was cut off by Jacob's voice over the intercom. "I'm putting us down right next to the house. Sam's coming out with the healing device."

It all seemed kind of anticlimactic, really. Jacob landed, Carter rushed in, and there were several stressful minutes while Jacob hunched over Teal'c, his face pinched in concentration. Carter sat cross-legged with Teal'c's head in her lap, monitoring his pulse, while the others hovered. Dana stood uncertainly at the doorway, throwing the occasional glance out at the darkness. Jack had the feeling she was about to take off, and he couldn't have that right now; so he leaned over and hooked a finger into the belt-loop of her jeans.

"Hey--"

"Ssshhh," he said, nodding at Jacob and Teal'c. She settled, frowning, lips pursed suspiciously. Crickets sounded outside, and Jack heard voices raised in discussion and even laughter. He wasn't sure where they were; he assumed somewhere in Sindle's compound.

Finally Jacob sighed and sat back. "Okay, he's stabilized. I took care of most of the damage, but he's still low on blood. He needs a lot of fluids."

"And a symbiote," growled Jack.

Carter winced. "That may be a problem, sir. I checked when Dad called, but it looks like all the symbiotes in the dead Jaffa died too."

"Kiralla's got them. Big tanks," said Dana, speaking up for the first time since they'd landed. Daniel stared at her, and she flushed. "Not just in Las Vegas, she had a big tank in Boston. Except--" her eyes widened, and she winced.

"Except?" Carter cocked her head encouragingly.

Dana shoved her hands into her pockets, for all the world like a junior-high student caught smoking in the bathroom. "Except I dumped half a bottle of bleach into the tank when we left. I think I probably killed them."

Jack rocked back on his heels, more impressed than he was willing to admit. Daniel wasn't so circumspect, and he laughed out loud, before sobering. "Well, that's--actually kind of unfortunate, but creative."

"Definitely points for creativity," confirmed Carter, with a half-hearted smile at the girl. "Let's get Teal'c into the house. Daniel, can you?"

Jack helped out as much as he could, struggling to get Teal'c up the stairs to the house that Carter had set up as the infirmary, but when they got Teal'c in the door, he slipped to the back of the pack and snagged Dana's arm as he went. "C'mon," he said, pulling her with him back down the stairs.

She wrenched against him. "Where are we going? And why? Can't you see they have lights on in there? And if there's lights, there's power, and if there's power, there is _hot water_."

"Believe me, I know," said Jack feelingly. "I've gone a lot longer without a shower than you have. But there's something we gotta do first, and you're the only one who can help me."

"I am?"

"Yup. Let's go find us some prisoners."

  
+=+=+

  
**Colorado Springs, Target Day**

  
"Where'd Jack go?"

Sam looked up from the bed, where she was draping an ornate quilt over Teal'c. Daniel was right, she realized, as she looked around. Other than the three of them, and Jeff Kendry muttering uncomfortably in his sleep on the bed against the far wall, the room was empty. "He was just here, wasn't he?"

Daniel shrugged. "Dana's gone too."

"Dana? Oh, the girl. Listen, Daniel," she said, tugging once more at the blanket under Teal'c's chin. He was so still. "I have to go check in with Dad and see if we can get in touch with Marie. Could you--" she motioned at the chair next to Teal'c's bed. The worst of his injuries were healed, but he was still unconscious, and without a symbiote, well. He shouldn't be left alone.

"You don't really have to ask, Sam." Daniel sank into the chair with a grateful sigh that reminded her that he was injured, too. Maybe she could borrow the healing device from Jacob later.

Sam lingered in the doorway for a moment before leaving. Sindle had a generator, with a plentiful supply of fuel, so they had turned on the lights all through the two houses they'd taken over for the time being. Leaning against the door, she realized that this was the first time she'd seen Daniel in the light of an ordinary human lamp since the mountain blew up. He looked very much the same as he used to then, as if they'd just returned from a grueling off-world mission: tired and unshaven, his eyes still sharp through the fatigue.

"What is it?" he asked softly, resting his head on his hand, elbow propped on the narrow arm of the chair.

She shrugged. "I don't know. It hasn't sunk in yet, I think. That we did it."

He smiled, a soft, open smile that she realized she would never have seen, before. After it faded, he put out his hand to her, and she came to him, wrapping her fingers around his. With a sly glint, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. "Something else you forgot, Major."

"Oh?" Sam let her hand turn, rubbing her fingers against the scruff on his cheek. "What would that be, Doctor?"

He slipped the other hand around her waist and tugged her a little closer, so that she was standing between his knees. Wicked promises followed his fingers as they toyed with her waistband and drew circles on her wrist and forearm. "That Jack's back. And we've got a project to start."

Cold washed over her so fast she felt as if she'd been thrown out an airlock into open space. "Oh, god."

Daniel's hand fell away from her waist, and instead caught her other hand, squeezing them both between his own. She could feel the roughness of his dry calloused fingertips against the skin on the back of her hands. "Sam, breathe. It'll be okay."

Right, breathe. But god. What had she been thinking? "It's different now," she managed to say. "I, um--"

"You didn't think we'd all survive?"

Damn him. "Not really, no. I kind of thought I'd be dust settling over Las Vegas by now."

"Too bad. Guess you'll have to go through with it." Daniel squeezed her hands once more, and then let them go. "Don't you have an errand to run?"

"Bastard," she said, and bent to kiss him before she left. He pulled her closer, making even more wordless promises with his lips, before letting her go. She glared at him; he smiled cheerfully and waved her out the door.

_Arrogant jerk_ didn't even begin to describe Daniel half the time, Sam thought, as she trotted downstairs. But he knew how to get her out of her own head and back into the world, like nobody else did. As well as a few other tricks Sam was fairly sure he'd never learned from Sha're, but that she wasn't ever going to ask if Senneth had taught him. Sam didn't even want to think about the Tok'ra and sex in the same moment.

She found her father in the kitchen, arguing with Curran over the proper distribution of the fresh meat in the freezer; from the little she heard before ducking away, Curran claimed it all for his people, since they'd been under Sindle's thumb for so long and it was probably stolen from stores along the Front Range. The logic of that made some sense, but Jacob wasn't one to give up so easily. Sam figured Selmak was going to have to make an appearance to settle things. She shrugged, guessing the radio would have to wait: she wasn't willing to get into the middle of that argument. From her small experience with him, Curran struck her as both painfully earnest and a little skeevy, and she'd rather avoid him.

Instead she circled through the compound, checking on their people. This house had been identified as the infirmary, so the bedrooms mostly contained the wounded, either drugged or sleeping off the effects of the healing device. There had been many injuries, and Jacob had conserved his strength, healing only the worst of the wounds and leaving further repairs for later.

As she approached the other house, however, Sam realized there was practically a party going on. Two of Curran's men were on the porch, their rifles securely in their hands, but Melissa Carpenter was sprawled in the doorway in Peter's lap, both of them singing raucously and clutching mugs of something red. "Did you write the book of love and do you have faith in God above--"

"Hey, it's the major!" Peter caroled, and Melissa stopped singing. Just as well, Sam thought, since Melissa couldn't sing when she was sober.

"Hey, guys," she said without stopping, and stepped carefully over their two bodies. There was a group of people in the kitchen, spilling out into the hallway, and three or four more crashed in the lounge to the left, staring blankly at the empty fireplace. Everyone seemed to have a glass or cup: apparently someone had found Sindle's party supplies. _And Daniel and Janet nearly starved, digging out the mountain by hand._

Sam ended up in the kitchen, dodging questions she couldn't answer about what would happen next, about what the goa'uld would do, about what they were going to do with the prisoners. None of them had seen the colonel. Rafael, one of Curran's men, insisted she take a mug of wine with her when she finally left, vaguely unsettled.

The infirmary was the house with ring platform, and was only thirty yards from the other house, but the party noise dropped away quickly as she crossed the wide lawns. Halfway there, she stopped and looked up at the sky. Smoke from burning Las Vegas was likely to appear soon, but right now the sky was clear, the stars brighter than she'd ever seen them when she lived here. Back when the city lights and the smog had dulled the air. Now the stars were nearly as clear, as close, as they were from space. Was she ever going to space again? Maybe, she thought. _We're not done yet._

The guard on the front door was one of Curran's people, a slim black woman with an ancient shotgun in her hands. Sam meant to stop and chat--anyone who'd still find the energy to bleach her hair in the middle of a war zone was worth knowing--but as she reached the porch she heard raised voices from above, and with a sigh, headed upstairs.

"--believe you did that!" The calm, smiling Daniel of before was gone; this Daniel was glaring at the colonel, his eyebrows positively dancing in outrage. "Teal'c would never--"

The colonel wiped his hands on the blanket and shrugged. "I didn't ask him."

"Jack, he was a prisoner! We don't do that--"

The colonel's hands had been wet, Sam realized: the blanket was dark where he'd left his hands. And there was a water bottle lying on its side on the floor.

"Who says we don't, Daniel? We do--no, _I do_ whatever is necessary to save my people. God knows you've benefited from that often enough."

Daniel caught his breath, about to launch into it again. Sam grabbed the chance to interject, and stepped forward to put a hand on Daniel's arm. "What? What did you do, Colonel?"

"He went and got a symbiote, Sam," said Daniel. "And there's only one source for those, isn't there, Jack? It's not like you're going to deny it."

O'Neill put his hands in his pockets, his eyes hooded. "Nope."

"Oh, my god," said Sam, and looked down at Teal'c. Already he looked better; the grey tinge to his skin had faded, although he was still unconscious. "You killed one of the prisoners?" She couldn't keep the horror out of her voice.

"Nope."

Sam blinked; Daniel blinked. "What?" Daniel said after a three-second pause. "I thought you said--"

"You thought wrong." O'Neill gave a brief, twisted smile. "Not that I wouldn't have. But I didn't need to. We've got a Gate, don't we? So I took him to the Gate, made him tell me where he was from, and sent him home. He paid for his ticket, though." O'Neill tapped the water bottle with a toe so it rolled under the bed, rattling softly on the hardwood floor.

"Wow," Sam managed to say. "I don't think that would have occurred to me."

The colonel shook his head, his posture softening. "I doubt that, Carter. Besides, I wasn't sure it would work."

"But he could still die," said Daniel. His voice was still sharp, suspicious.

"Nah, he's getting better already," said O'Neill, waving at Teal'c. "Just look at him."

"I meant the Jaffa prisoner," Daniel replied.

"I suppose," said the colonel. For the first time, he looked a little uncertain. "I thought it was worth the risk, and he had a better chance than Teal'c. He wasn't wounded, and anyway--goddammit, Daniel, would you just _stop_?" His voice cracked on the last few words, and Sam winced. In the lamplight, the lines on his face were more pronounced than she remembered them being at the lodge, the weariness in his posture more evident.

Daniel shook his head. "Jack, I--" He paused, looked at Sam, and started again, his voice softening. "I told you that we detected the naquadah stash in the hotel. What I didn't tell you is that Sam ran the model of what would happen."

Something flashed across O'Neill's face, too fast for Sam to identify. Grief, maybe. "And you did it anyway."

"It was my decision, sir," Sam said, standing with Daniel. "I was the only one--" There really wasn't any way to finish that sentence. It was wrong, all of this was wrong: that Teal'c could only live at the possible cost of another Jaffa's life; that the four of them would survive when so many had died. Sam felt the room begin to blur, and it was therefore a complete surprise when the colonel stepped forward, grabbed her arm, and yanked her through the doorway.

"Uh, Jack?" said Daniel from behind them.

"C'mon, Daniel," snapped the colonel. After the first three steps he let go of Sam's wrist, when he seemed sure she would follow him. He didn't seem to know where he was going, and when they got to the stairs he paused. Downstairs were more sickbeds, the kitchen, other people. Upstairs was unexplored; O'Neill led them up.

At the top of the stairs was an open door, but it was a closet. The second door was a bathroom. O'Neill closed it without a word and went on down the hallway. The room at the end of the hall was empty of people, but not furniture. It was richly decorated in what Daniel had once described as Goa'uld Louis XIVth: ornately carved furniture, every surface covered with alien glyphs, and topped with layer after layer of multi-colored velvets and silks.

It had to be Sindle's inner sanctum. Sam paused at the doorway, her stomach a little queasy, but the colonel walked right in, slapping on the light on his way. Daniel gave Sam a little nudge, and she entered the room, looking around warily. She'd seen Sindle die; that didn't mean she wanted to see all the toys he might have left behind. While she glanced around, O'Neill closed the door and locked it firmly.

"So you want to tell us--" Daniel started to ask, but stopped. "Jack?"

The colonel took a breath, took three strides, and put his hands on Sam's shoulders. And then one hand was on the back of her head, fingers weaving through her hair. And then she lost track of where the other one was, because he was kissing her.

_Finally_, said her brain, but her body was ahead of her, despite the way her head pounded and her legs ached with exhaustion. She put one hand in his hair, the other around his back, touching him anywhere she wanted, all constraint gone. _Skin_, she realized, suddenly, when his mouth moved to her neck, and she gasped. While he did things to her neck that made her entire body light up, she grappled with his shirt, pulling it up so she could reach his bare skin.

"Ah," someone said, and Sam opened her eyes to see Daniel, watching them from a few feet away. Not watching them, actually; looking away, the way you did if you saw someone necking in public. "I'm gonna just--"

Without letting go of Sam, or even moving his mouth from Sam's collarbone, Jack reached out a long arm and hooked a finger unerringly into Daniel's waistband. Sam stumbled as Jack jerked hard, yanking Daniel into them both.

"Oh," said Daniel, bracing himself against Sam's shoulder and Jack's back. "So, this is--"

Jack went still, but his arm tightened around Sam. He took a long breath, and another, and then straightened, so they could both see his face. He had one arm around Sam, and the other hand still hooked in Daniel's belt. There was something strange in his eyes, something Sam hadn't seen since the day the mountain fell.

"When Teal'c's better, he's going to leave," he said. He looked desolate, she realized. The wall had come down.

Sam freed her hand from under Jack's shirt and put it on his face. There wasn't anything to say. Daniel shook his head, frowning, then put his hand over Sam's, and turned Jack's head to face him. He began to speak, shook his head, and then simply leaned forward to kiss Jack.

Jack's hand flexed and squeezed on Sam's waist, holding her close, while Daniel's kiss deepened into something complex and almost desperate. While they kissed, Sam pressed closer to Jack. She licked the stubble on his neck, kissed Daniel's fingers, running one hand under Jack's shirt, groping Daniel's ass with the other. Jack was filthy; they all were, dirty with blood and sweat and the deaths of innocents.

"Hey," muttered Daniel, and grabbed her hand. Jack pulled away from Daniel, a little, keeping their other hands locked together, and looked at Sam. He met Daniel's eyes, gave a small nod, and backed Sam up until she was pressed against the wall.

Someone next door had found a stereo. Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" filtered tinnily through the window. It was hot in this top-floor room; Sam could feel the sweat beading on her back, along her hairline. Her hands were shaking.

Daniel pinned Sam to the wall, kissing her, hands up under her shirt, fumbling with her bra. "Sports bra," she gasped, and he laughed into her neck. Jack crouched in front of her and fumbled with her boots, and then gave up in frustration. While Daniel pulled Sam's t-shirt over her head, Jack unzipped her jeans, yanking them down around her knees. She stumbled sideways, head trapped inside her stinking shirt, and Jack grabbed her hips with his hands to stabilize her. This couldn't really be happening.

But when Sam flung the shirt off and looked down, those were Jack O'Neill's hands, dark with sun and white with scarring, spanning the pale skin of her hips. Daniel's hands, working their way under the unforgiving lycra of her bra, paused as well, as he glanced down. For a moment Sam couldn't breathe. Daniel smiled, and Jack stood up, leaning into him, then moved to one side, slipping one arm around her back. And sliding the other hand into Sam's stained and dingy underpants.

_Oh, god._ Sam threw her head back; if she'd been against the wall she might have hurt herself. But Daniel had shifted behind her; his arms were under hers, his mouth on her neck, her shoulders, her ears. Jack slid one hand over her ass, fingers dancing over the skin, and kissed her hard, fucking her mouth with his, as if this were his only chance. With his other hand, he pressed his thumb down over her clit, once and again, fingers massaging her labia, his palm open.

Sam's nerves were singing; she let her hips jerk forward, demanding. "Jack..." she growled into his mouth. More, she needed more. Instead, the bastard pulled his head away, leaned over her shoulder to kiss Daniel: a long, wet, sloppy kiss, his fingers barely moving on her, although Daniel kept playing with her nipples. Sam grabbed one of Daniel's hands, and brought it to her mouth to bite the base of his thumb. In retaliation, he pinched her nipple just once, sharply, and she bucked, letting go of his hand.

Daniel shifted his hands and Jack took a sudden breath. Sam look down to see that one of Daniel's hands had disappeared. Jack and Daniel were still kissing, but Daniel was simultaneously playing with her breasts with his left hand and doing something with the right that made Jack's hand clench bruisingly hard on her ass. Who knew Daniel was so coordinated?

Sam quivered. Her knees were beginning to shake: it wasn't going to take long at this rate, even if Jack was more interested in kissing Daniel--and then long fingers plunged into her without warning. She reached out, wildly, and found a fistful of Jack's shirt, which was enough. She yanked and brought his mouth back to hers. Daniel might have laughed softly at that point; Sam was past caring.

Jack kissed her, fucking her with his fingers, and Daniel ground against her from behind, his mouth on her neck and one hand on her breasts. Sam seized Jack's forearm where it flexed, tendons and muscles moving under her fingers, as he drove into her faster and harder, sending her higher, gasping, climbing and climbing--until his fingers curled at just the right angle and he pressed down hard with his thumb--

Daniel claimed, later, that she keened when she came, that first time with the both of them. She protested: that kind of thing was for porn stars and women in romance novels.

But he was probably right.

  
+=+=+

  
**Colorado Springs, T plus 1**

  
Sindle had taken good care of this compound, Jack had to admit. The rest of the world was desperate, people just scraping by, short on food, short on clean water, short on hope. But here inside these walls, the lawns were well-tended and green in the bright sun, and purple flowers climbed the porch railings. The water was clean--and hot!--and the lights worked. Jack could see Peter out in the yard wrestling with a barbecue grill, prepping for this afternoon's festivities. It felt almost like a vacation, and if Jack's bruises had bruises, well, some of the stiffness made him smile instead of groan. He was clean, and his team was alive, and the Earth was a little more free than it had been this time yesterday.

He'd take it.

"So what happens next?" Dana plunked herself down on the porch stair next to him, a cup of coffee in her hand.

Jack shrugged with one shoulder and took another sip of his own coffee. It was gone cold and it tasted more bitter than he'd remembered. Sindle had a lot of supplies, but milk wasn't among them. "More of the same, probably," he admitted. Right now, that didn't seem so bad.

"You know, I still don't understand--who all _are_ you guys? I mean, you and that blonde woman are military, but what about the Jaffa guy?" For once, Dana didn't seem angry or skeptical: she just wanted to know.

Jack eyed her for a few moments, swirling his coffee around the mug in a gentle circle. Cleaned up, she was a little older than he'd thought: maybe she really had been in college when the Goa'uld hit. She'd scrubbed off all the makeup and borrowed a shirt from someone, but she still wore the tattered jeans, and her chipped toenails glittered burgundy and gold. "How did you end up with Kiralla, anyway?" he asked.

She sighed and rolled her eyes elaborately. "Be like that." When he didn't say anything, just tilted his coffee mug at her in encouragement, she shrugged and went on. "Okay, fine. Things were pretty bad in Boston at first, not a lot of food or fuel or anything. Word got out that if you were good with computers, they would feed you. So me and a couple of gaming buddies went down. I was there for over a year, I guess. They kept us locked in some old building off the Common, working on these crap old machines, trying to run the entire city utility system off a dozen networked Dells and a three-year-old PowerMac. It was nuts. Sometimes they sent us out, like a help desk. So I got called to do some work in the State House, and that asshole Rah'nak decided to reward me."

"Reward you?"

"Yeah." She looked away, across the yards, to where two of Curran's people were actually passing a soccer ball back and forth. "He made me her lo'taur. I was stupid though: I didn't know what it meant, figured it was a good deal. Hot food, clean clothes, nobody would mess with me." She turned over her hands and stared at them blindly.

Jack had always figured that just hanging with the Goa'uld was bad enough: but sleeping with one, and knowing they were likely to put that snake in your head some day--well, that had to suck. "And then you found out?"

"Oh, yeah. So I ran."

She was smart enough to stay out of a direct confrontation with Kiralla, while still doing some damage: that stunt with the bleach was pretty risky. And sensible enough to cut and run when she had to.

"I was part of a secret military organization called Stargate Command," he said, watching her face. "We traveled off-world, made treaties with aliens, gathered weapons to use to fight the Goa'uld."

Her eyes widened. "No shit!"

"No shit."

"So, like, what'd you do? Are there other aliens? God, you must have stories!" The veneer of cynicism had fallen away; her brown eyes were huge. She really was just a kid.

"Stories, yeah." Carter and Daniel came out the front door of the other house; halfway down the steps Carter took Daniel's hand in hers. "I'm not much for stories, but Daniel could tell you some."

"Daniel?" Dana drew her brows down, and then grinned. "Oh, the cute one! He's totally a hottie."

Jack fumbled his coffee, nearly spilling it on his almost-clean t-shirt. "Ah," he managed, "isn't he a little old? For you, I mean." Cannon came out after Daniel; the three of them stopped to talk, Daniel gesticulating with enthusiasm, Carter watching him with an indulgent smile.

"Oh, c'mon," Dana protested. "At least he's human."

"That's debatable," Jack said. "Besides, he's, um. Busy," he ended lamely.

"Busy." When he didn't reply, just let the silence speak for him, she grinned wickedly. "You guys are all nuts, you know that?"

"I get that a lot. So anyway," he said, "you got a plan for what comes next?"

"Sleep and shower?" When he didn't respond, she shrugged. "I dunno. It's all kind of fucked up right now, isn't it? What are you going to do?"

"Fix things," he said, as Daniel and Sam came across the lawn. They looked relaxed, Sam swinging Daniel's hand in hers, her hair neatly braided and tied with a blue ribbon. "We could always use some help," Jack said, and pushed himself to his feet. "You're good with computers, keep your head in a crisis, mostly willing to take orders--"

Dana laughed at that, but looked thoughtful. "Um, I don't know. Can I think about it?"

"Sure, I think we're gonna be here for a while anyway. Carter, what do you have for me?" Jack fell into step with the other two as they struck out across the wide lawn, heading for the row of trees to the north. Dana followed on behind, chewing her lip.

"We're set to go. Dad's out there already in case they come through ahead of schedule."

"Right, good," said Jack. He'd wanted to be there for that first contact, but Curran was having _issues_ again, and Jack had been forced to spend an hour placating the man. Hence the cold coffee. It wasn't that Curran was wrong: they _would_ have to open up Sindle's compound to the few survivors in the area. And Curran had some good ideas about restoring the infrastructure, re-establishing local government control. But he wanted to move faster than Jack was comfortable with, before the military situation was resolved, before they had any intel about the situation offworld. And he was consciously political, clearly positioning himself for a leadership role, in a way that ticked Jack off.

The only good thing about the last two years was the complete lack of politicians Jack had had to deal with.

To be fair, Jack thought, sidestepping a gopher hole, Curran wasn't the real problem. It was the rest of the world: all the little warlords like that town council in Whitehall, and the gangs in LA, and the White Power guys in Montana. All those people the old system had kept down, who'd climbed to the top during the occupation--or during the resistance, Jack admitted--and who didn't have any legitimate governmental authority. People who ruled with the gun, and who shouldn't have access to Goa'uld technology under any circumstances. _Politics_, Jack thought, and shuddered in premonition. They were a long way from a democracy these days.

"We got through to Marie finally," Daniel was saying as Jack tuned back into the conversation. "Apparently most of the fighting's over in Boston. Some Jaffa are holed up in the State House, but most of the rest have surrendered."

"That was fast," noted Jack, with some relief. Maybe, if they could get Boston settled, they might have a semblance of civil order there by the time winter hit. The thought of winter didn't seem so bad right now; at least this year his bed would be warm.

Carter went on, "Speaking of prisoners, what are we going to do with them?" No "sir," Jack noticed, but decided not to point it out. He'd been reminded last night, around 2 am, that he liked sex; he'd decided he would like to make it a regular part of his life again. Badgering Carter about military protocol seemed an ineffective way to achieve that goal.

"I need to talk to Teal'c about that, I think. Where is he, anyway?"

"He's already at the Gate; he was up and out while you were still talking to Curran," said Daniel. He steered them to the right, where a narrow path cut through the trees.

"Gotta love that Jaffa constitution," said Jack. "Anyway, about the prisoners. I'm thinking we may be able to send some of 'em home."

"Really?" said Carter, giving him the eye.

Daniel pursed his lips thoughtfully, and stepped over a downed log. "I think Jack's right on this, Sam. Thing is, most of these Jaffa are, well, sort of orphans, or free-lancers. You've seen all the different glyphs they have, and we know these Goa'uld are basically no-name lordlings trying to get into business for themselves."

"Were," said Jack. "Past tense."

"I'm missing your point," Sam said, ignoring Jack.

"So these Jaffa don't actually have much history with their Goa'ulds, and if we send them home, they're not likely to run off to the nearest System Lord and announce that they've deserted their posts."

Jack nodded. "And _oh, by the way, my lord, we got beat by the Tau'ri_. Cause that's not gonna look good on the resume."

They came out of the trees into the open: a great field bordered by trees on three sides, in the middle of which loomed the Gate. Jack paused. They'd arrived in the darkness and he'd had no time to come see it this morning. It felt weird seeing a Gate in the open, as if he were off-world.

The last time he'd seen this, seen _his_ Gate--he wasn't sure. Must have been on that Friday, the day before the attack. They'd finished the surveys on 435 on Thursday, after five solid days in the field, and Friday was all paperwork and catchup. Jack must have been through the Gateroom on Friday, or in the briefing room or Hammond's office, but he couldn't remember it. Damn, it was big.

"Sir?"

Jack scratched his head, wishing for his cap, and walked out into the field. "Nothing, Carter."

"So, that's the Gate you guys were talking about?" Dana asked Daniel.

"Yeah, it's actually called a chaapa'ai," began Daniel, dropping back to explain; Carter grinned, and kept walking. She hadn't stopped smiling all morning, Jack noticed, with some secret pride.

They found a small party gathered around the DHD: Jacob, Teal'c, Curran, and a few others from Jack's and Curran's teams. Jack drew up next to Jacob and nodded genially all around. "Jacob, folks. Fine day, isn't it? Teal'c, how you feeling?"

Teal'c gave him that swiveled nod. "I am quite well, O'Neill." He paused, and went on, "I understand that--"

"Glad to hear it, T." Jack cut him off with a jovial clap on the back. This was so not the time and place for that conversation. "Jacob, we still on schedule?"

Jacob nodded, looking remarkably cheerful for a man who'd led a brutal fight less than twenty-four hours earlier. Jack didn't want to think what the casualties would have been like if anyone else had been in charge. As it was, Curran was damned lucky any of his people had survived: too bad he wasn't gracious enough to thank Jacob. Well, God knew what Jacob was owed, so Jack figured it would all work out.

Jack stretched his arms luxuriously. This was the kind of morning he liked. Good news, more good news to come, and no snakes around to cause any trouble. He just hoped they wouldn't have to wait too long.

But before he even had a chance to get bored, the first chevron lit up. "Bout time," he said. "Redfield's getting slow."

Mindful of the backwash, Daniel put a hand on Dana's shoulder as the wormhole flushed and then stabilized. There were a number of startled jumps among the people gathered, and Dana squeaked in surprise before announcing, "Okay, that's _cool._"

"That's what I always said," said Jack. "Jacob, you want to do the honors?"

"Nah, I'm good," said Jacob. "It's all yours," and he tossed the radio to Jack. Standard milspec, almost identical to the ones Jack had carried offworld for six years.

Jack nodded his thanks before thumbing the radio on. "SG-1-Niner to Redfield, come in."

For once, there was no delay. "This is Redfield, SG-1-Niner."

"Major, you are good to go. Come on through." Jack tried to be boring and official, but he suspected it wasn't working, since both Carter and Daniel were looking at him with goofy smiles. His team, that had pulled through again.

"Copy that, SG-1-Niner." Redfield's voice was bland as a bank teller's, as if he hadn't been trapped offworld for almost two full years. "On our way."

"Shame they couldn't all come," said Daniel, as they waited. "I know, military necessity, but still."

"What, you mean, they're just going to _appear_\--" whispered Dana to Daniel; and then they did, stepping out of the wormhole like wizards from behind a curtain, one after another of them.

Sindle had built a wooden platform around the gate; the boots of the newcomers thumped oddly on it as they emerged, looked around, and stepped down the short flight of stairs. Jacob was counting heads. At "fifteen," Redfield appeared, P-90 in his hands, and blinked in the bright summer sun. Five seconds later, the wormhole blinked out of existence behind him.

Jack walked forward, noting the patched uniforms and thin faces among the men and women clustered in front of the DHD. The Alpha Site had not had it easy, either, these past years. They stared about them, some with weapons raised, as if they were on yet another offworld mission. Some of them carried staff weapons and zats, and Jack didn't want to think about what that meant. Carter and Daniel came up behind him, faces sobering as they saw the same things he did--and more, he expected. They always did.

There were painfully familiar faces in the crowd: Redfield, stolid and pock-marked as ever; Lorne, who'd kicked Jack's ass at hand-to-hand one day and then bought him a case of beer to make up for it; Teresa Jones, who now wore captain's bars shining beneath her perfect jaw line. They might be worn and hungry, but they were SGC, and Jack was damned glad to see them.

He stopped about midway between the DHD and the Gate and clapped his hands twice to get everyone's attention, Daniel and Carter falling into place to his right and left. "All right, people, listen up! I just have one thing to say, and then we can get down to business. We've got hot showers, coffee, and barbecue for everyone before we begin debriefing. But I know it's been a long time for you, so let me just say--"

Jack paused, and stretched out his arms--narrowly missing Carter's nose--and said, as solemnly as he could: "Welcome home."

  
END


End file.
